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Copyrighted and all Rights Reserved by the Author. 





4 « 


By THE AUTHOR OF WI8-T0N-WT8, OR THE 8ECRET 



marnel tie wroiio piaii. 


CHAPTER I. 

I tell you what it is, Mr. Morehead, I’m going to 
w^alk myself down to that store and have just what I 
want. Needn’t think you are going to keep me shut up 
here like a nigger all my life, do you, Mr. Morehead, — 
eh?” 

‘‘I’m nobody’s slave.” 

“What in the world is the matter with you, Florence. 
It seems to me of late you are getting all wrong, and 
take offense at every little thing. Of course you can 
have w^hat is necessary for comfort, but, you see, we 
must be saving. Money don’t grow on bushes. I am 
denying myself.” 

“Yes, that’s just the way, you always want to save, 
save, it’s all the cry with you men. Now, I’m going to 
have things. I’m not going to work myself just to 
please you men. No, you bet I don’t.” 

“Well, Florence, if you will be a little prudent, and 
we deny ourselves a little now, we shall have something 
laid up for a rainy day. We are just starting in the 
world, and if we get swamped, in the beginning, it will 
take a lifetime to correct the blunder.” 

The above conversation occurred between John More- 
head and Florence, his wife, at the breakfast table one 
morning some five years or more after their marriage. 

Florence Swan — that being her maiden name — was a 


4 


ISIAKRIED THE AYRONG MAN. 


belle in the neighborhood where she AYas raised. Her 
father was a minister of the gospel, and, like most child- 
ren of minister’s families, Florence grew up fond of 
company and neglected to some extent in her education. 
True, she had a kind and obliging disposition, yet she 
had never been taught to curb her temper, and when in 
a bad mood she would shoAV an ugly, vindictive passion. 

Match-making mammas, in many instances, overlook 
the one great question of fitting their daughters for their 
proper sphei’e in life. Only too eager to find some one 
among the masculine portion of the genius, nomo Avhom 
they imagine would do for a husband to some one of 
their daughters. They overlook the one great desider- 
atum of a proper education for the Avedded ]ife. 

But it is not the intention of the writer to enter into 
a discussion of methods, but to give a history of Mr. 
Morehead and his wife. 

John Morehead was a young man of 27 summei^s, had 
been raised in the old orthodox Quaker church — and a 
man of a warm, loving heart — and a man who would at 
once give the impression that he was of a kind and gen- 
erous nature. Generous to a fault, and of strict integ- 
rity, he was the idol of the neighborhood in Avhich he 
lived. 

And when he formed the acquaintance of Florence 
Swan, and had taken her out to parties several times, of 
course it was conceded by all that it would end in mat- 
rimony, and that it Avould certainly be an advantageous 
match. 

John Morehead had inherited a small fortune from 
his father’s estate, and had engaged in the merchantile 
businesss. 

He had seen others engage in the same business, and 
was making money — that is, to all outside appearances. 

But if he had turned to the merchantile reports, he 


MARKIED THE WRONG MAN. 


5 


would have seen there that forty-nine out of every fifty 
were shipwrecked. 

But he had pictured out to himself a lovely home and 
a good ond loving wife in it as the most enjoyable life 
to live in this world, and to this end and object he 
worked and planned manfully. 

In the Morehead family there lived an old aunt, who 
had never married, and who strictly adhered to the old 
Quaker church and always had some dream to relate or 
some sign to interpret. She was always known by the 
kindly name of ‘"auntie.” She being a sister of the 
elder Morehead, was an aunt in reality — her Christian 
name being Ruth — but she was never known by that 
name. 

Sometimes she would address her nephew, John, and 
say: “Now, John, thee knows that thee must consider 
well before thee gets thy neck into the marriage halter. 
When thee once takes that step thee must stick to the 
scripture text, which says, ‘if thou art joined to a wife 
seek not to be loosed.’ ” 

“Well, auntie,” John would say, “you know I don’t 
say thee and thou and thyne, as you and grandpa does. 
We young Hickory Quakers have got out of them odd 
ways of talking long since, but, auntie, I like to hear 
you talk that way; it sounds so friendly and good, and 
then I suppase it’s scriptuee, ain’t it, auntie.” 

“Yes, John, thee is right, it is scripture, and good 
scripture, too.” 

“Well, aunty, I will take it for granted. But about 
them dreams and signs you have; I never put much con. 
fidence in them, or believen in them either.” 

“Well, John, thee must know that the bible says that 
in these days the young men shall dream dreams and the 
old menshall see visions; and thee knows the bible is 
-f^rue, John.” 


6 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


Siicli was the conevrsation that frequently took place 
between John and aunty. 

But, as everyone spoke of John Morehead and Flor- 
ence Swan, it was understood that it was in a matrimo- 
nial sense, and, as a matter of course, they were to be 
married. 

Florence had a number of beaux, or admirers, and, 
being left mostly to herself about whom she should fa- 
vor as a suitor, she became somewhat yain, because of 
seemingly being the favored one among the young ladies 
of the neighborhood. 

There was one of her beaux that she favored most, a 
Mr. John Crane, a kind of wild, rattling, rambling, fel- 
low, not possessed of any means — visible or invisible — 
whereby to make an honorable living in the world; yet, 
with a strong arm and the will with it, he would have 
but little to fear about making a Hying in the world, 
with a proper energy applied. No doubt but Florence 
favored this young man, and that her heart told her that 
she loved him. But the one idea of a little wealth in 
this world, and an inordinate desire to make a show 
among her neighbors, smothered out the finer feelings, 
the noble passion of reciprocal love, existing between 
her aud Mr. Crane, and the one grand mistake of her 
life was made almost at the threshold. 

Marriage is considered by most people in this world 
as a matter of f^ct, and it forms an smportant act in the 
great drama of life to all those who enter the matrimo- 
nial state. And when rightly considered, it should be 
the one gre'Bt aim of all to conform to the requirements 
thereof, not forgetting the divine injunction, ‘That for 
this cause shall a man leave father and mother and 
cleave unto his wife, and they twain shall become one 
flesh.” 

So, when John Morehead led his blushing bride to the 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAX. 


1 


altar arid pledged himself in the presence of God and 
the witnesses present that he would obey the divine in- 
junction and be a crue and devoted husband to his lovely 
wife, everyone said amen, ‘^and Florence and John will 
do well.” We shall see what the sequel proved. 

However, before the nuptials wei'e solemnized, old 
auntie took occasion to relate to John her curious dream 
as she termed it. Her story, told, was in this wise: In 
her dream she saw John walking along the highway as 
though on a long journey. She saw in the road before 
him three large yellow balls, or globes, like. The first 
was somewhat smaller than the others, the last one be- 
ing larger than the two first. John walked on until he 
met the first ball, which, with some little difficulty, he 
passed and came to the next, which he also passed, but 
with increased difficulty; but when he came to the third 
one there was a great struggle, and it seemed as though 
John could not pass it, and in her great anxiety to see 
John get over the difficulty, she awoke from her sleep 
and considered her dream. 

“Well, aunty,” said John, after hearing her dream, 
“What is the interpretation thereof — as Xebuchadnezzer 
said to his wise men when he wanted them to explain 
his dream.” 

“Why, John, thee knows that to the wise belong the 
interpretation of dreams and visions, and we have no 
Daniel here to solve it. But it seems to me that thee 
must be careful in thy journey through life; it seems 
that thee will meet with difficulties in thy pathway.” 

“Well, aunty, I propose to let the dreams take care of 
themselves, and I will see what can be done to knock 
them yellow balls out of my road.” 

Yet there were certain misgivings lurking in John’s 
mind as to his success in life. True, he and Florence 
had set up housekeeping, and matters seemed prosperous. 


8 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


. The mercantile business was getting along, and a large 
amount of goods sold, and in these days a vast amount 
of crediting was done; and John’s profits were large, 
but a large amount of it was on paper and not in the 
till. 

When John and Florence were married a month or 
more, and the honey-moon began to wane, he says to his 
wife: 

“Florence, we are now wedded for life, we two rre 
joined together for weal or woe, what is mine is thine, 
and what is thine is mine, what God has joined together 
let no man put asunder. One promise, dear Florence, I 
w^ould have you make; nay, I will join with you in this 
promise, or pledge. It is this, Florence, let us in the 
presence of God— calling him as a witness — make this 
solemn agreement: ‘That we will never, on any pre- 
tence whatever, quarrel or use any angry words toward 
each other.’ Now, Florence this may seem a little child- 
ish to you, but it seems to me it will do no harm, and 
it may be the means of doing good in our after lives.” 

But Florence was thoughtful, and did not promise. 

For the two first times Mr. Moreheod renewed his 
stock of goods he had not much difficulty in getting a 
sufficiency for the trade, although he did not have the 
amount in cash he should have had in order to make a 
good showing to his creditors — most of his means, ’being 
in accounts and notes, which was not money. Being in- 
experienced in the business, and eager to make a fortune 
at once, he did not at all times act with prudence and 
foresight. 

Florence, too, (his loving wife) had become more and 
more vain and gay, and began to hint that they must 
live in grander style and be like other people — who had 
fine furniture and entertain company — as becomes peo- 
ple in liigh life. 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 9 

John Morehead, being of a somewhat similar turn of 
mind, also gave ear to his wife’s pleadings, and his ex- 
penses began to overbalance his income, and to make 
inroads on his principal. So that when he went to the 
wholesale houses the third time for more goods to re- 
cruit his stock, the doors were shut against]him and mor^ 
credit refused, and was also plainly told that no exten- 
sion on old accounts would be grantud. 

This was a heavy blow to the proud spirit of John 
Morehead; but the storm must be met. And the first 
thing he did was to break the news of his failure to 
get more goods to his dear wife. This being done with 
a heavy heart, John suggested to his wife that their ex- 
penses must be cut down, and that in order to 
succeed and get out of the dilemma great economy 
must be used. 

That his creditors were disposed to be lenient, and 
give him a chaece to collect up his outstanding notes 
and accounts, he doubted not; but could it be done in 
time to avoid the impending crash. 

He reasoned with his wife and laid down his plans 
but, no, his wife objected, and then occurred the talk at 
the breakfast table related at the commencement of this 
chapter. 

John Morehead was conscientiously honest and pro- 
posed to make a divide of his effects with his creditors, 
and so do the best he could. Floi ence thought other- 
wise, and proposed to give up nothing, but to go at once 
to the store and help herself to whatever her fancy 
might dictate. As the day wore on, John became 
thoughtful and was in a quandary to know what to do 
under the circnmstances. That a crash was iminent was 
beyond a doubt and he could see no way out. At length 
he thought he would go to old aunty for advice. She 
might offer some consolation at least. 


10 


MAERIED THE WRONG MAN. 


‘•Well, aunty,” said John when he had found her, “1 
am in trouble — now what would you advise — I see that 
I am about wound to a close in my business.” 

“ Well, John, thee has come to the first yellow ball, 
but I can’t tell just now what is best to do.” 

“There is one way to tell about whether thee will 
prosper in this business. It is a sign, John, and I’ll tell 
thee how to test the matter.” 

Well, aunty, you know I never believed in signs and 
dreams; you know I’ve often told you that.” 

“ Well, John,” says aunty, “thee came to me for ad- 
vice, and thee is in trouble, and we had better not talk 
on the subject if thee objects to my plan of explain- 
ation.” 

“Well — well, aunty, go on with your signs, I will 
listen.” 

“Now, John,” replies aunty, “when thee goes down to 
thy store, and if thee will take a piece of money from 
thy pocket and drop it on the plank sidewalk and it 
goes through a crack, why then thee must know that 
thee will be in bad luck.” 

“Why, aunty,” replies John, “don’t you know that 
most every piece of money that a person may chance to 
drop on the floor or on the sidewalk will go through a 
crack if there is one in thirteen feet of it.” Why, 
aunty, I would not try the experiment for anything in 
this world.” 

“But, aunty,” continued John, ‘'what if the money 
don’t go through the crack?” 

“Why then, John, thee must know that thy. fortune 
in the world will not be entirely wasted.” 

So John went out and slowly walked towards his 
place of business. 

One thing was certain. A crash was now upon him, 
and no way to avert the impending doom. lie had heard 


MAERIED THE WRONG MAN. 


11 


of failures, but never dreamed that he himself would 
be the subject of one. If he could only get time and 
extension of credit it would help him. But that one 
thing — credit — he did not get at the full import of that 
one ruinous system. It was the practice which had 
ruined thousands. 

When he reached his place of business, he found that 
the sheriff had taken possession and had locked it up. 

John Morehead’s friends gathered around him and 
extended their sympathies. Many were the suggestions 
made by them, and what it was best to do under the 
circumstances. Mr. Morehead was not wanting in many 
kind and warm-hearted friends and neighbors. They 
were almost driven to desperate deeds against the sher- 
iff, but John counselled quietness and submission to the 
law aud authorities. 

“No smuggling of my effects,” says he, “my creditors 
must and shall be paid. They shall have their dues if 
God gives me strength of limb and soundness of mind.” 

“But fwat will yez be afther doin’, Misther Morehead, 
whin the spalpeens will ’av all of yez goods and yez ’av 
nothin’ at all — at all — to kape yez and thechildher from 
starvin’?” 

The above was spoken by a warm-hearted Irishman, 
whom John had in his employ for several years, and 
who, by the way, was strongly attached to the More- 
head family. He was a true friend. 

“Never mind. Tim,” says John, “I’ll find support for 
myself and family. Don’t take any trouble for me. 
God has given me strength to fight the battle of life, 
aiid I will do what is right though the heavens may fall. 
We must obey the laws of our country.” 

By this time there had gathered quite a crowd of 
John’s friends and neighbors, and long and loud were 


12 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


their denunciations against his creditors who had closed 
his store, and looked daggers at the sheriff. 

There was a gruff old sea-captain among the crowd, a 
generous, warm-hearted old duffer, who had quit plow- 
ing the main and was now plowing the soil. He pro- 
posed to John that they would — two or three of them — 
join in an obligation to secure his creditors, and that 
would give him time to get righted up, and so weather 
the storm — to use the tar’s lingo — and was going at once 
to put his plans into execution by force. 

But John bade them be quiet and desist from their 
angry talk, and demanded that they should disperse and 
go to their homes. 

Just as John had turned to go back to his dwelling, 
Florence dashed past him, and pushing the sheriff aside, 
sprang into the store and closed it on that functionary. 
Then she commenced to pull the goods from the shelves 
and hide them away up stairs. Before John, the sher- 
iff* or the men outside could recover from their aston- 
ishment, Florence had secreted over half the goods con- 
tained in the store in different places. 

By this time the sheriff had succeeded, with the help 
of John, in getting Florence out of the store and given 
her to understand that such proceedings could not be 
tolerated, and as she and John slowly walked back to 
their dwelling she began to upbraid him in not helping 
her to secrete and get away with the goods. 

“Florence,” says John, “I will do what is right in re- 
gard to the matter, and you must bear me out in all that 
is right. We have trouble now, Florence, but we are 
young, and with divine help we will succeed in the 
world yet. This is a sad blow on our fortunes — it can’t 
be denied, and, Florence if you will only give me your 
kind words and smiles and bright countenance it will 
give me strength.” 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


13 


‘‘But, John, why do you not make an assignment. 
There was Brooks, and Kershaw, and others, too, who 
have made assignments, and they live in grand style — 
see what fine furniture they have in their houses, fine 
sofas, chairs, and damask curtains, all that. Kow, John> 
I’m just going to have them, too. Yes, and I’m going 
to have nice tea parties, and be like somebody. You 
needn’t think you are going to keep me here all my life. 
I tell you, John, I’m going to have them goods in that 
store.” 

As John and Florcnee reached home, the conversation 
between them ceased. 

Some of John’s friends dropped in during the day^ to 
talk over matters. 

Florence was sullen and morose in temper. 

John Morehead began to think — indeed he now had 
ample time to look back over his carter thus far in life 
— seriously. However, thoughts would intrude on his 
mind like these: 

‘‘Florence acts very queer. She did wrong in defying 
the law — she may endeavor to pass it off as a joke — in 
trying to beat the sheriff; but it was not right. I mar- 
ried her in all good faith. I promised before God and 
man to cherish, love and protect her- She done the same 
by me. It was a solemn compact. I wonder if a man 
can succeed with such a wo ; down busy devil!” 

John had inadvertently let his thoughts drift into a 
channel that was not right in his mind, so he dismis'^ed 
the subject and proceeded to take a walk to collect his 
scattered thoughts; remarking to a friend as he passed 
out that it might be possible for a man to marry the 
wrong woman. 

As John walked on he became more calm and collect- 
ed, y^et he walked carelessly^, not caring much where he 
was going; anything to get his mind settled and be 


14 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


composed. Everything in a business point looked dark 
and gloomy ahead. One thing remained with him — that 
was good health. After wandering about for some time 
John returned to his home. Throwing himself down on 
a sofa, he buried his head in his hands and rested for 
some time in deep thought. 

Florence tried to be cheeerful; in fact, she did not 
know to what extent John had become liable. She pre- 
sumed that it was but a small alfair for a person to fail 
in business, and that in a short time all would be afloat 
again. 

Not so with John. The failure had sunk deep into 
his feelings, and his whole deportment and countenance 
showed that the failure had affected him seriously in 
mind. John had a former partner in business, who had 
died and left an estate in N. C., and in order to settle 
the business of the firm it became necessary for him to 
go to North Carolina. So John’s friends counselled him 
to go amay from his affairs and take a trip to the old 
North State and settle his partner’s business. 

After counselling old aunty, John packed his valise, 
and taking passage on one of the splendid Mississippi 
river steam packets, he headed down stream, intending 
Memphis to be the objective point where he would take 
across the country by rail. This was j ust twelve days 
after the ever-memorable election of 1860, that placed A. 
Lincoln in the president’s chair. 

CHAPTER II. 

The town of Danforth, where John Morehead liad 
done business and where he had met defeat in his affairs, 
was situated on the east bank of the great father of 
waters several hundred miles above the city of Saint 
TiOuis, in tlie great state of Illinois. 

As the Southern rebellion was then looming up, pol- 


marrip:i) the wrong man. 


15 


itics was all the rage on land or sea, on boats, cars, or 
in dwellings; and ‘‘secession,” “nigger” and “Abe Lin- 
coln” entered largely into the political arena and invad- 
ed every fireside. 

Before John Morehead started on his journey, “old 
aunty” took occasion to speak in great earnestness to 
him, detailing to some extent the dangers he would be 
subject to on the southern trip. But John, nothing 
daunted, was willing to risk it. 

“Thee knows,” says aunty, “that them hot-headed 
Southerners will be very careful who passes through 
their states. They may take thee for an abolishionist, 
and thy neck will be put into the halter.,’ 

“Well, aunty, I don’t propose to meddle with their 
slave notions. That is their business. And then, aunty, 
you know I voted the democratic ticket, and I am in- 
clined to think that they will not molest one who is with 
them in voting. 

“Yes, but thee must know, John, that the fire eaters ' 
down there count every person an enemy who does not 
own slaves and vote as they do. Thee knows, John, that 
they have killed people just for publishing their opin- 
ions. Thee knows that when our forefathers were driv- 
en out of England, because of their religious belief, 
they came to this free country in order to enjoy free- 
dom of thought. The knows, John, that it is wrong to 
bartar in human beings — buy and sell them as chattels. 

I greatly fear that there is trouble ahead. God only 
knows what will be the outcome of this great question.” 

“Well, aunty,” replies John, “I am disposed to let 
them enjoy their niggers. I don’t want any slavery in 
mine, nor slaves, either. I see they are willing to let the 
North alone, if the North will let them alone. But T 
believe I would fight before I would see this good gov- 
ernmrnt torn asunder. I believe those Southern fire- 


16 


MARBIED THE WRONG MAN. 


eaters ought to be whipped. I suppose that Abe- Lin- 
coln will not do them any harm if they will only obey 
the laws and not secede from the Union. I think they 
will become ashamed of what they are doing down 
there, and be in favor of maintaining the Union. 

‘AYell, John — God help us — it is to be hoped and 
trusted that there will be no bloodshed or war.” 

‘‘I’ll tell you, aunty, if it comes to war I am in favor 
of going down there and learn them a lesson. I’ll 
shoulder my musket and help to whip them in.” 

“John, thee knows that our religion teaches not to shed 
blood. We cannot let our angry passions get the better 
of us so much as to go to war. That will never do. 
Thee knows that the bible says that thou shalt not kill. 
We should obey God rather than men. Our mission is 
peace in this world.” 

“Well, aunty, I know that our old Quaker church 
teaches not to shed blood — not to fight. 

“But w^hat will we do when we are forced to defend 
ourselves, when they load up their great big cannon and 
point at us what shall we do — grin and bear it aunty?” 

“Still, John, thee must forbear.” 

“Well, aunty, when I get down there I will say ‘thee 
and thou and thine,” and they will take me for a Quak- 
er and pass me through.” 

“God grant it may be so, John.” 

In due time John Morehead arrived in St. Louis and 
took passage on a large Southern steamer for Memphis, 
and then by rail to Charleston and up to Greensboro, N. 
C., where Moreheads relatives lived. 

Nothing much of importance transpired on the jour- 
ney until he reached Columbia, S. C., where he was 
detained for a few hours in order to make connections 
with the trains running north. While sitting in the 
office of the hotel, John heard loud and boisterous talk- 


MARRIED THE WROXG MAN. 


17 


iug at the depot, and on going out to ascertain the 
<^ause, he saw a group of men and boys around a tall, 
robust-looking man dressed in the garb of a railroad 
engineer and who was claiming to be a Union man and 
talking vehemently that he was born on Virginia soil 
and that the Southern states had no right to secede* 
The crowd was disposed to lynch the engineer, and per" 
haps would have put their threats into execution had 
not some friendly person got him aboard the train go- 
ing north. 

On the train John found that the engineer’s name was 
Turner, that he had a general railroad pass over all 
roads in the South and Florida, but on account of his 
Union sentiments he was turned back by the fire-eaters 
as a dangerous man to be in their country. 

As the train drew up at Chester, on the line between 
North and South Carolina, John and the engineer got 
out of the cars together and went up to the hotel, with 
others, in order to wait for the regular train, which 
would be due at 10 p. m. 

Again the engineer was assailed by the patrol — as 
fhey were called there. While sitting in the hotel, his 
papers were demanded and his baggage searched. Noth- 
ing was found to indicate that he was an abolitionist or 
one on any secret mission, but the patrol was not satis- 
fied and demanded that he should leave the country at 
once. It was in vain that he claimed to be Southern 
born and that he was a Union man. Some of the fire-eatars 
procured a rope, and demanded that he be hung at once 
as a “black abolitionist.” As the engineer left the ho- 
tel, he started for the train on a run with about fifty of 
the patrol at his heels shouting to hang him, kill him. 

In the intense excitement then raging in the South, 
and in fact all over the country, the persons who were 
traveling on the cars in company with the engineer, be- 


18 


MARRIED THE AVRONG MAK. 


ing desirous of remaining quiet, did not take part in tlie 
discussion going on between the patrol and their victim. 
But as the leading ones of the squad became more and 
more bold in their demands on him to show his private 
papers, he became very earnest in his protestations that 
they must not molest him, that he was a Southerner 
himself and was entitled to their protection. 

When the engineer reached the depot, he was sur- 
rounded by the yelling, hooting mob. The race had 
b3en for life, as it were; but not being able to shake oif 
his tormentors, he fell on his knees and began begging 
for liis life, pleading for mercy to be spared; that if per- 
mitted, he would at once leave the country and never 
r3turn. Just at this juncture the same persons who had 
assisted him at Columbia again interfered and got the 
affrighted man once more on the cars. And as the 
shrill whistle sounded the time to start, Mr. Turner set- 
tled down into a seat beside John Morehead, and once 
more they were going north as fast as steam aud wheels 
could carry them. 

Very little, if any, conversation was indulged in by 
the two persons as the train sped on, but enough of tlie 
engineer’s history was obtained by John to give a clue 
to the situation. He was a regular^licensed engiiieer- 
and had a general pass over most of the railroads in tlie 
South, down into Florida. His papers were signed by 
the most prominent railroad presidents in the North and 
his object was to get employment on some of the South, 
ern roads, but owing to his strong Union sentiments he 
Avas warned to desist and not attempt to put his ideas 
into practice. In fact all Union men were Avarned to 
1 ‘ave the South. 

John Morehead’s place of destination was reached by 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


19 


the train in a few hours, and getting off at the station 
saw no more of the engineer. 

Meditating on the scenes he had that day witnessed, 
he began to suspect that the hot-headed Southerners 
were determined to precipitate a bloody war. However, 
when among his quaker relatives and friends he felt 
more at ease, and talked pretty freely with his old uncles 
and aunts on the situation of affairs in the Southern 
states. 

The patrols were almost continually on the tramp, 
but never molesting the Quakers or Friends — the latter 
being their proper name — notwithstanding several of 
them took and read free-soil and abolition papers. 

“We are Friends of peace; we want no war:” they 
would say when questioned on the subject of secession. 
“We desire not to offend anyone; war is unholy.” And 
they usually stood by the text; but as a rule they were 
anti-slavery, and well posted on the great questions of 
the day. 

After transacting his business John Morehead 
started on his return journey homeward. But be- 
fore leaving his old Quaker relatives and friends at 
Greensboro he became acquainted with a middle-aged 
darkey woman, who had been a slave down in the cot" 
ton- growing states, but had escaped from her owners 
and had lived among the society of Friends or Quakers 
in the old North State, they furnishing her with food 
and shelter. This negress had but one name that was 
known^ and that was “Quag” — funny name that. She 
had formed an intense liking for John Morehead, and 
wanted to accompany him to Illinois, where, she said, 
“de nigger war free, and dat’s what dis chile wants.’ 
But John sternly shook his head, and said no. 

The way in which John Morehead became acquainted 
with this old darkey woman was in this wise: Quag 


20 


INEAKRIEI) THE WRONG MAN. 


had learned that he was from Illinois, and knowing that 
it was a place where the negroes were free, she lost no 
time in trying to have a talk with John on the way how 
to get to that free state, bnt being very timid she was 
some time in getting her plan to work. Finally muster- 
ing up courage, she thus addressed him: “Well, Massa 
John, da tells me that yo is fum a free state, where da 
darkeys are free from slavery.” 

“Well, Quag, I am from.. Illinois,” remarked John 
when he observed how earnest she was to know some- 
thing about a free country. 

“I live in a free state. I don’t want any slaves about 
me.” 

“Well, Massa John, I’s gwine to go wid yo to Illi- 
nois. I wants to be where I can get pay for my work’ 
and if yo will take dis chile out dere I’ll work all de 
bressed time for yo, I will, Massa John. 

But John Morehead shook his head with an emphatic 
‘‘No.” 

He did not want to be seen traveling north with a 
negro, especially so in such troublesome times. 

When John Morehead arrived home, he found that 
his time would be occupied in arranging and settling 
his business. 

Times set in very hard, the state banks began to trem" 
ble and quiver in their transactions, and confidence was 
almost wholly destroyed in commercial circles. The 
Southern States began to secede from the Union, South 
Carolina being the first, then others followed, and all 
kinds of business became to a more or less extent 
deranged. 

But what was John’s surprise one morning, on going 
to his door, to find Quag sitting there on the step shak. 
ing with cold and nibbling a cold biscuit. 

“Why, what in the world brought you here. Quag ?” 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 21 

were the first words that escaped John’s lips after he 
got over his surprise. 

‘•Why laws, Massa John, I jest cum here, I did, from 
de ole Norf State; Massa John, fore God, I could not 
stay dare. I tell you da was after dis chile, and I 
node if I could jes get into dis free state of Illinois, or 
to Chicago, I would be all right.” 

“ But how in this world did you come so far. Did 
anyone help you? 

“De Lord bress you, Massa John, I jes come on de 
ground railroad — so da called it. But, Massa John, de 
good Lord and them Quakers helped to get me way out 
here.” 

“Well, Quag, how did you find where I lived?” 

“Why, Massa John, you know dey had de under 
ground railroad to Richmond, and I axed dem Quakers 
dere where you lived, and none of dem node. So I was 
jes going to the poor house one day, wen I sede a man 
who said he was from Illinois, and I axed him if he 
node Massa Morehead; when — de Lord be praised — he 
said he lived in de same town. So I says, dis chile is go- 
ing dere. And so, Massa John, I jes come; sometime 
on de railrc ad and sometime under de ground, and de 
Lord knows how I got here, but I’se here, Massa John, 
alive and a poor, worn out ole nigger Wench.” 

“And now, Massa John, if you will jes take care of 
dis chile till dat ole massa down Souf gives up the 
chase after me, I’ll be a good nigger, and work for you 
and missus to pay you. I wants to be free, I does, and 
I can hoe cotton and do most anything.” 

“Well, Quag, can you cook, and wash, and do house- 
work.” 

Well, Massa John, I’ll try.” 

So John Morehead took Quag into the kitchen, and 
told Florence to care for the poor darky woman. 


22 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


Florence was disposed at first to kick poor Quag out^ 
but on a more sober second thought she concluded to 
put her to work. 

As the winter wore on and the rumblings of war[^ be- 
came more distinct every day in the South, business be- 
came more and more deranged and unsettled. 

John Morehead had closed up his business so far as 
he could. He had done all that a conscientious and 
honorable man could do. But time hung heavily on his 
hands. 

Florence had become very cool and distant. So much 
so that her temper was at times beyond control. In- 
stead of being a loving and devoted wife to her hus- 
band’s interests, and to cheer him in the hour of trouble, 
she seemed to be the very opposite. 

‘‘Florence^” says John one day, after a long and pro- 
tracted silence, ‘‘you at one time had a kind and gentle 
nature, at lep,st to all outside appearances. Why is it 
that you have of late become so wayward and cross in 
your disposition, why can’t we be as we once were? It 
is certain that we brought nothing into this world when 
we came into it, and it is certain that we will take noth- 
ing out of it when we leave it. Now should we not 
bear with our misfortunes in this world, and make the 
best of our ill luck? It seems as though my arm would 
become strong again, with your smiles to lighten the 
task. Work to me would be a pleasure, a delight, and 
it would — with God’s help and your approving smiles — 
not be long ere we would be in prosperous circum- 
stances once more,” 

Florence seemed to take in the idea, but demanded that 
John should appropriate everything saved from their 
failure to themselves, and that they live in a finer and 
nicer house and have finer furniture than their neigh- 
bors. 


MARRIED THE WRO^^G MAK. 


23 


‘‘I tell you, Mr. Morehead, I am going to have things 
in my house. Do you think that I’m going to have my 
neighbors pass by me with a contemptuous look, just 
because we don’t have things as fine as they. I tell you 
I’m not going to stand that. John Morehead you are a 
fool to pay your debts. Nobody pays their debt.” 

There was a flush of crimson came across John’s face, 
and there was a quivering of his lips for a moment. He 
was about to reply to the last remark of Florence, when 
their conversation was abruptly broken off, as a neigh- 
bor’s boy came rushing into the house with a daily pa- 
per, shouting as he handed it to John: 

‘‘The Secesh have fired on Ft. Sumpter and on the 
vessel sent to supply the garrison with provisions. Jeff. 
Davis and Beauregard are going to fight the United 
States. Abe Lincoln has called for 75,000 troops to 
put down the rebellion. What say you. Mr. Morehead, 
are you going to fight or are you going to show the 
white feather? ” 

It took some little time for John to get the full im- 
port of the news, and then only after carefully reading 
the daily over carefully under the head of telegraph 
news that he got the full force of the situation. 

Jumping to his feet and snatching up his hat, he made 
a dash for the door, remarking to Florence as he passed 
out that he would go at once and help to fight the “Sd* 
cesh.” He would learn them a lesson about seceding 
from the Union. 

At the gate he was met by Aunt Ruth, who had been 
a listener to the news the boy brought, and who had 
fully comprehended the situation. She saw trouble 
ahead when John declared his intention to fight the Se 
cesh. She determined to prevent John from going if 
possible. And when she stopped him at the gate and de- 
manded what he was going to do, she saw at once that 


24 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


there was fire in his eye. But nothing daunted, she be. 
gan to expostulate with liiin in this wise: 

Now, John, thee is not going to war. Don’t thee 
know it is sinful, and the Bible says, ‘Whosoever shed- 
deth man’s blood is a murderer.’ I tell thee thee must not 
fight, tkee must not kill thy fellow man.” 

“Well, aunty them Secesh down there have fired on 
the old flag. They fired on Fort Sumpter and have com. 
mitted treason. Aunty, do you think I am going to sit 
here idle and see them traitors cut such shines as that? 
No, aunty, I’m not the man to do that, I’m going to 
fight. I don’t want none of their negroes, but they shall 
not go out of the Union with my consent. I’m going. 
Get out of the way, aunty. I see it. Fight! War! War! 
That’s what it is.” 

‘ John, I think them people down there ought to be — 
Down evil spirit. Peace; we are friends of peace. She 
^ad almost let her angry feelings get the better of her 
gain, but quickly controlling herself, she once more 
appealed to John to not go out to unholy war. It was 
sinful, inhuman and contrary to the scripture. 

All the argument that aunty could bring to bear on 
John was of no avail, until she reminded him that he 
had promised to take care of her in her declining years 
and that at her death he was to inherit what of her 
worldly effects she might be possessed of. 

John began to think seriously when aunty made this 
last appeal, when Quag came out of the kitchen and be- 
gan to take in the situation. 

“Lawd bress you Massa John, is you gwine to the 
war? De Lawd help you to fine my ole man down Souf. 
Dey has got him down dare hoein’ ob de cotton and de 
cane. Massa John is it sho you is goin’ to fite dem Se-. 
oesh? You’se got to be mighty careful, dey will kill 
yo, Massa John, sho.” 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


25 


‘‘Why, Quag, have you got a husband way down in 
them cotton states? You came away up here in the 
north and left him down there to work for them fire- 
eaters.” 

“Why, Massa John, I tell yo how it was. Dey jis 
sole my ole man to dem slave drivers what cum roun’ 
buyin’ up niggers, and dey didn’t want dis poor ole 
chile. Dey say Quag is no good to work in de cotton. 
So I jes run away when they took my ole man down 
Souf. Dey said I was a good wench in de kitchen, and 
dat I could cook for de niggers.” 

“Why, Quag, did you not go along with your poor 
old man?” 

“Why, de Lawd bress you, Massa John, dis chile 
wanted to be free. I jes wanted to come to a free state 
once. I tell yo a pusson what has been a slave all de 
bressed days of one’s life, why, dey wants to be in a 
free country jes to see how it seems to ones self.” 

“Well, Quag, in this noble free state of Illinois you 
are free as long as you can keep the slave-hunter from 
tracking you with his blood hounds, and the fugitive 
slave law to back him.” 

“Wat dat, Massa John? Wat dat big word you call 
law.” 

“Why, Quag, it is this: One Congress has made a 
law that when you negroes run away from your masters 
down South, they oall on the United States marshal and 
he has to summon a posse of the people to turn out and 
help hunt the runaway slaves. And if anyone refuses 
to go and help catch a runaway negro, then that person 
is fined and put in prison.” 

‘ Well, Massa John, I know what yo means, but dem 
big words do kind o’ scares me, dey does, sho. IN^w^ 
Massa John, do you tink dat dem big marshals will come 
here after dis poor nigger.” 


26 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


“Well, Quag, that depends on whether they find you 
or not. If they find you here they will have you sure. 
They will put cabins on you and take you away down 
in Dixie and make you a slave again.” ^ 

“De Lawd bress yo, Massa John, where can dis poor 
ole darkey hide. I tell you I jes die first before I go 
back to dem slave drivers down Souf. I’se on free 
ground and I’s jes gwine to stay. Dey may take dis 
poor ole body back, but they can never take de spirit 
along.” 

“Well, Quag, you must keep hid, and be very careful 
that the hounds dont get after you.” 

As John turned to go out of the gate he met Tim, 
who had come to learn if John had heard the war news. 

“Well, Misther Morehead, do yez believe it, them Se- 
cesh are goin’ to fight. Begorra, it’s a bad day for thim 
fellers down there when they git Uncle Sam foreninst 
thim. Now, Misther Morehead, and are yez goin’ to the 
war and get shot and kilt and then be dumped in a hole, 
all for the blackguard of a nagur.” 

Well, Tim,” replies John, “I’m goin to the war, and I 
want you to stay here and take care of things. There is 
the house and the corn and Florence and the babies.” 

“Sthop, Misther Morehead, it is meself as is goin’ 
wid yez to the front. Does yez think I’d be afther 
(stayin’ behint and let yez go to the war, and yez be shot 
and wounded and left to die on the cowld ground? No, 
begorra, I wad not do that. And, bedad it’s Tim Mori- 
arty that’s goin’ wid yez, Mr. Morehead. Moind yez, 
that. Does ye think I am a coward, and sthay here 
lookin’ afther the pigs and the likes o’ that. No, divil 
the bit will I do it. I’ll go wid yez, John Morehead and 
sthay wid yez till the moon turns to green chaze.” 

As he hurried down town he saw knots of the citi- 
zens talking together and gesticulating in a vehement 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


21 


maiiner, and what must be done and how they would 
whip the Secesh into the Union again. 

John soon joined in and it was finally agreed that 
there should be a mass meeting called for the evening 
in order to get an expresssion from the people. John 
Morehead waa captain of an independent military com- 
pany at that time. The company was organized under 
the state law, and they were equipped with Harper’s 
Ferry muskets, and well officered. 

At the meeting in the evening there were several 
speeches made, all of the strongest kind of Union senti- 
ment. John tendered his company to the Governor of 
the state for immediate use. The company was ac- 
cepted; first for three months, then for three years.. 

All was now bustle and excitement, and the shrill fife 
and rattle of the drums was heard almost constantly on 
the streets of Danforth. 

John Morehead and his comrades were tireless 
in their efforts to put the company on a solid war foot- 
ing. Each individual member of the company seemed 
to think that on his shoulders alone depended the entire 
preservation of the Union. 

Midst the hurry, bustle and excitement of pre- 
paration, John Morehead had not time to talk to 
Florence about the war fever but wery little. 
But as the company was ready to go to 
the place of rendezvous, and only one night left for 
the members to bid adieu to home and friends, John sat 
down to have a good talk with Florence and aunty be- 
fore leaving. He began the conversation thus: 

“Now, Florence, I’m off in the morning. You and 
aunty and Quag, I think, can manage to get along until 
we come back. Our dear children, Erney and Rosa, 
they must be well cared for. I know I shall be sore dis- 
tressed if, when far away, I shall think of the dear ones 


28 


MARRIED THE WROXG MAN. 


at liome — that they might be in want. But, Florence, I 
know you will be ever careful, and watch over them as 
a mother only can Florence, I shall be economical, and 
send all my money home.” 

•‘Yes, John, I want you to send a plenty^ and be sure 
you send it to me. 1 shall want all, and more too, for 
I’ve got to have things in the house. I’ve got to have 
window curtains and carpets and rocking chairs. Yes, 
John, just you send me all the money. I shall need 
every cent of it.” 

“I tell thee, Florence, that I could not use one cent of 
such money,” says aunty, “don’t thee know, John, that, 
such mony is blood money.” 

“It seems that to take money that is earned by fight- 
ing and killing human beings is wrong, and I could not 
with a clear conscience -use such money. Why, John 
thee must know that our people will not have anyttiing 
to do with land warrants issued to soldiers Them war- 
rants is the price of blood. It seems as if I could see the 
blood stains on them papers.” 

“I’ll take the money earned by the soldiers, and the 
land warrants, too,” says Florence. “Just give me the 
money and I’ll have things I want. I’ll bet you.” 

“Well, Florence, you will get all of my wages; only 
take care of the dear darlings, Erney and and Rosa. 
Would to God I could take you and them along, Flor- 
ence. It would make the service lighter, and I believe 
my arms would be stronger. But men for war and 
women to stay at home and to endeavor to lighten the 
cares and burdens of the soldiers at the front. Women 
should endeavor to make home happy and pleasant to 
all.” 

“ Florence, it grieves me much to hear you talk so and 
be so coveteous about wealth. I do not care for the 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


29 


money I shall get, but it is the honor and preservation of 
my country that I desire to sustain. ’ 

^^Never mind about] tne honor, John,” says aunty. 
Thee knows that to do right is honor at all times.” 

“Why, aunty, that is the very principle I am going to 
fight for. Is it right for them Secesh down there to dis- 
member this glorious Union.” 

“Well, John, I sometimes think that them slave driv- 
ers ought to be Down evil spirit — thou] canst not 

rule in me — get thee behind me Satan. I came very 
near forgetting myself, and let the cai*nal mind predom- 
inate in me. But once more I say, get thee behind me, 
Satan. John, thee must not shed blood if thee is 
obliged to fight. Thee must not kill.” 

“Why, aunty, what is a soldier for. Must I stand 
still and let them shoot me down. No, no, aunty, that 
will never do.” 

“I’ll tell you, John,” says Florence. “You just kill 
all you can. Everyone of them ought to be killed ard 
mashed into the earth, and be sure you send]me all the 
money you get. ^ I shall need it all to get things for my 
house. Be sure and send plenty home all the time. I 
shall need every cent of it. Do you suppose I am going 
to stay here like a blame nigger and get nothing? No, no.” 

“Yes, John,” continued Florence, “I will get along if 
you send me plenty of money. Aunty can preach her 
Quakerisms, and I will look after the dollars. Yes, you 
bet I can do that. I don’t know what I shall do with 
Erney and Rosa. I know they will annoy me^iearly to 
death. I expect I shall have to send them to the coun- 
try. High-ho! I wonder how it will go to be a war 
widow.” 

As Florence went on in this strain of talk, she be- 
came more excited in her denunciation of the rebels. 


30 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


“Yes,” she continued, “every one of them ought to 
be burned at the stake.” 

Florence, it seems, was as much of a fire-eater as her 
cotemporaries down South. She was, co say the least, 
very impulsive, and took every occasion to vent her 
anger on the Southern fire-eaters. 

As it was getting late, and the company would be off 
in the morning, the family retired for the night — John 
Morehead, for one, — to spend the last night with his 
dear ones. It might be for the last time — no earthly 
mortal could tell. Many others were in the same cate- 
gory with him — had left wife and family, friends and 
all — for the cause of the Union. They all slept sound- 
ly, or seemed to at least, until awakened in the morning 
by the shrill notes of the fife and rattle of the drum. 

John Morehead was up early, and calling to Florence 
and the children to be up and bid him good-bye, was 
about to turn away, when little Rosa caught her papa’s 
hand, and looking up into his face, says: “Papa, can’t 
you take little Rosa with you. If you get sick you 
won’t have little Rosa to bring you water to drink. Then 
dear papa, you may get shot. O! how dreadful that 
would be. And, papa, you have to go to them dreadful 
hospitals, and maybe die. Papa, dear papa, won’t you 
let me go with you. And Erney, can’t he go too. We 
will be good children.” 

“Yes, papa,” chimed in Earny, “why can’t we go 
along? O, how I would like to have a gun and go to 
war; but I believe I could not carry a musket, it would 
be so heavy.” 

John hastily brushed away the tears from his eyes, 
and catching up Erney he pressed him to his breast and 
covered his cheeks with kisses. Then, setting him down, 
he took ii|) Rosa; and, as he did so, he came near break- 
ing down entirely. But, bracing up, he covered little 


MAKRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


31 


Rosa’s cheeks with kisses. Long and earnest he held 
the child in his arms, until the tap of the drum admon- 
ished him to be going. Setting little Rosa down and 
kissing aunty, he turned to embrace and kiss Florence. 

“Now, John, be sure and send me all your money,” 
says Florence, as she took John’s hand for a final adieu. 
“You must do that — I’ll take care of it for you. I’ll do 
the best I can.” 

As John turned away Florence began to cry, and a 
few natural tears coursed their way down her cheeks. 

As John hurried down to the rendezvous appointed on 
the streets he met a newsboy with a daily paper who 
shouted to him to buy a paper. As he thrust his hand 
into his pocket to get the requisite change, he pulled out 
a quarter in such a hurry that in an unguarded moment 
he let it drop on the sidewalk and, as it rolled along, 
John began to snatch at it in order to secure it safe in. 
to his possession again, but the slippery little coin kept 
on rolling until it found a crack and dropped throngh. 
As he saw the quarter disappear beneath the sidewalks 
he all at once recalled to mind what old aunty had told 
him about a piece of money going through a crack when 
dropped. Muttering to himself something about signs, 
he joined his comrades and was on board the boat steam- 
ing down the river to the appointed place of rendez 
vous. 

Before passing on in this account, let us turn for a 
little while and observe how Florence seemed to take 
the departure of her husband for the war. 

It is but justice to her to say that in many respects 
she was a kind and charitable woman, but very impul- 
sive and headstrong even to foolhardiness. 

Not having been trained in her childhood to respect 
the rights of others, she naturally became very over- 


32 


MARKIED THE AVKONG MAN. 


bearing and haughty in her demeanor whenever she was 
crossed in her willful Avays. After her marriage with 
John Mo rehead— and presuming that he was rich and 
able to satisfy her every want, and that she must out- 
strip her neighbors in the elegance and splendor of her 
home — she would become sour, surly and cross. 

An hour after the departure of John and his company, 
we find Florence sitting in the parlor, giving vent to her 
feelings in this wise: 

‘‘Well, I suppose I’m a Avar widow, now. I guess I 
have enough to live on. I wonder if John wants me to 
be his slave? What did I marry him for? He had a 
snug little farm. Poor fellow. Marry for love — poh 
— love — I would not marry any Morehead that ever 
lived. Marry foi money, that’s my ticket. O, my! 
dear, Avhat shall I do to kill time. My dtar husband — 
I w^onder how long he will be gone. Fiddle sticks, 
what’s, what’s — I’ll do as I please and shan’t ask no- 
body. Who’s going to cry after that booby? Not I. 
I’ll let folks knoAV who I am! But, suppose John does 
not send back any money? I’d better look to that. But 
I know he will — he promised too, and John is not the 
man to break his word, I know^that. Well, well, I’ve got 
to do the best I can. Some one said the war widoAvs 
would be cared for. Well, I’m a lone war widow and I 
shall be taken care of. Let me see: I’m going to have 
a fine carpet on my floor and nice damask window cur- 
ains, and then I’m going to invite my neighbors in and 
havea nice tea party; and I’ll beat Mrs. Blake over the 
street. She shan’t crow over me any more!” 

Thus Florence w^ent on soliloquizing to herself, — in 
such a manner as to attract the attention of aunty in 
the adjacent room, AA^ho came out to see Avhat the mat- 
ter was with her. 

“Why, aunty, I’m just going to have things a little 


MAKEIED THE WRONG MAN. 


33 


nicer now. John is gone and I am going to have a nice 
carpet, and window curtains, and tea parties — and 
won’t that be nice, aunty?” 

‘Well, Florence,” replies aunty, “thee ought to be 
more frugal and saving. Thee knows that the rich can 
live in fine houses, but it is not for every one to live in 
fine houses and have nice things. It is only those who 
live saving and frugal that attain to riches; and thee 
must know, Florence, that there is not that enjoyment 
in riches that people imagine. It is a contented mind 
and good health that are to be most desired in this 
world. Let us, Florence, endeavor to do all we can to 
alleviate the toils and hardships of the soldiers who are 
braving the dangers of the battle-fields and poisonous 
mias-mas of the South.” 

“Why, I suppose, aunty, that is charitable, and I, for 
one, am willing to help the soldiers. I do hope John 
wont forget to send me all his money.” 

CHAPTER III, 

We pass now a period of four years. The great Re 
bellion had been going on for three years or more. 
Fortunes had been made and lost in less time than it 
takes to write this story. 

The village of Danforth, where the Moreheads lived, 
had been the recruiting grounds for several military 
companies. In fact, it had been almost entirely strip- 
ped of the able bodied population. But man}/ of those 
who enlisted, and bade adieu to family, friends and 
home, never returned to reap the benefits of their toil. 

There were little green mounds all over the Southern 
states that told of the resting places of the dead. The 
head-board at the grave gave the name of the deceased 
soldier; but those who were fortunate enough to be able 


34 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


to return to tlieir native towns, were welcomed with 
honor. 

Such blows had been struck against the Confederacy 
that it shook, reeled, stumbled and fell^ — broken asun- 
der and dismantled forever. The sun,browned and toil- 
worn soldiers turned their faces homeward, were paid 
off and discharged. 

We find that Capt. Morehead had passed through the 
war unscathed by shot or shell, but almost broken down 
in health. In fact, the once robust frame of Capt. 
Morehead was a mere wreck; and in this condition we 
find him with his family, gathering up the fragments of 
his former investment in merchandise, for when the war 
was raging nothing could be done in the way of collect- 
ing outstanding accounts. 

It is true that John had earned good wages while in 
the service, and had, agreeably to the request of Flor- 
ence, sent almost his entire earnings home, only reserv- 
ing a small portion himself for actually neccessary pock- 
et change. But sickness in the family and other de- 
mands of an urgent nature kept the amount of money 
sent home by him down to a small amount. 

And once again we find him planning and working to 
make his family comfortable. The two children, Earn- 
ey and Rosa, had grown to be quite large, and Florence 
was, to all appearances, a kind and loving wife and a 
good mother. The long siege of the Civil war had 
smoothed down her temper — in fact, she had became a 
prominent member of the Sanitary Commission and had 
became an active worker in the church. 

Quag had been faithful to the family, and John had 
found her in the kitchen at work attending to the 
culinary department in a very creditable manner. 

Old aunty was the first to welcome John back after 
he had embraced his wife and two children. 


MARRIED THE WRO]S'G MAX. 


35 


^‘Well, John, thee has got safely back from the war. 
I hope thee did not have to shed blood?” enquired she, 
after the first greetings were over. 

‘‘Why, annty, I could not tell how it was about that. 
You must know that a Captain don’t carry a gun. I 
only had a sword, and you see I could not shoot with 
that very much.” 

“Well, the Lord be praised, John, if thee is clear of 
that sinful act.” 

“Well, but aunty, some times a Captain uses a gun 
and shoots, too. You are not a soldier, aunty, but listen 
to me. If you were in battle and a great big Secesh 
should come at you with two six-shooters, w^ould you 
stand still and be shot down like a beef.” 

“Well, John, I expect that Secesh would have to be 
sh — . [Aside]. There is the carnal mind at w^ork again. 
Get thee behind me satan. [Aloud.] Why, John, thee 
could tell the man who had the two guns to stand aside 
or they might get hurt.” 

“Why, aunty, we were not particular about that, in 
fact, we generally shot as we thought and we did not 
take time totell them Secesh to get out of the way. 
We shot most of the time right where the rebels were 
anil they ran against our bullets in some way or other. 
We got used to it aunty, we got used to it.” 

“Well, John, I’m glad thee has got back home safe. 
But what in the world are they going to do with them 
Freedmen, now there is no more slavery? And the 
good Lord be praised for that!” 

Quag could hardly contain herself while listening to 
the conversation between John and aunty. She hung 
on every word that was said and when at last she found 
a chance to speak, she bursted out crying and trying to 
talk at the sametime. 

“De Lawd be praised, Massa John, and yo is heah 


3) MARRIED THE AVRONG MAN. 

safe. De Lawd bress you, Massa John, now dde at 
darkies am free. I wants to see my ole man. Massa 
John, why didn’t yo’ fetch him heah? I’d be so glad to 
see him. Massa John, done yo’ sede him down there?” 

‘‘Why Quag, there are a great many thousands or 
more of negroes in the Southern states, and I could not 
tell which Avas your old man. True, I saAV so many of 
them that I thought they all looked alike.” 

“Tank de good Lawd. now the slaves are free. Dere 
is no mo’ ob hunting wid dem bloodhounds. Dere is 
no mo’ selling my ole man, no mo’ sellin’ de luhly 
chilens; no mo’ de whipen post; no mo’ oberseer’s lash. 
De good Lawd be praised! O, tank de good LaAvd! 
Bress yo’, Massa John, I jes feel like I mus’ hollar. 
Now we lib like Avhite folks. Now Ave git married like 
white folks. O, bress de good LaAvd!” 

Quag might have kept on in this strain, but John ad' 
monished her to desist from further demonstration in 
that direction. 

“But Massa John, I jes couldn’t help it. I feels so 
hallalujerm like, Massa John; but I’ll stop it. LaAvs 
aint I glad, do!” 

John and Florence began to plan for the future, once 
more, As it has already been stated, it had ahvays 
been the one great aim and object of his life to have a 
beautiful and pleasant home. It seemed to him that a 
domestic life was the most enjoyable; and John set hiim 
self about the attainment of this object in dead earnest. 
He had succeeded in saving some money out of his 
army Avages and with the help of A\diat he Avas able to 
gather from the effects of his old notes and accounts, 
he had a pretty good start once more. 

Florence appeared to be more thoughtful, and en- 
tered into John’s plans readily. At times the tAvo 
would hold long intervicAvs in regard to the future, — 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 37 

what they would have, and how their home should be 
beautified and adorned. 

Erney was now getting up into his teens and was an 
uncommonly bright boy for one of his age. 

But John was out of employment, and he was contin- 
ually planning to get some position where he might 
earn a competency for himself and family. Florence 
would occasionally become morose and sour tempered^ 
but John would say: 

•‘Cheer up; I’m going to be all right some of these 
days.” 

•‘I saw,” he continued, as they were talking one day, 
“an article in a paper this morning that said soldiers 
who went out to help subdue the Rebellion should have 
thfe offices at the disposal of the Government, because 
they helped to defend it: Now if this be the case> 
Florence,” he continued, “I’m going to see if I can 
secure a position of some kind in order to earn some 
money. It seems to me I could work day and night to 
get back my lost business.” 

“But surely, John,” says Florence, “you would not 
leave home and family in order to make money. It is 
true I like to have money and fine things in my house, 
but then you would have to be away so much.” 

John looked at his wife for a moment to determine if 
she was in earnest. The tone of her voice seemed so, 
and being fully satisfied that she was in good earnest, 
he caught her hands in his and said: 

“My dear Florence, I am so glad to hear you talk 
that way. For some time past you have been so cross 
that I had become disheartened and some times was 
really in despair. But these words of kindness nerve 
my arm, and I feel better and stronger to grapple with 
the world; and I shall go forth with a light heart to my 
task. Now, Florence, I’m going down town and I shall 


38 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


make inquiry in regard to the offices the soldiers are to 
have. You know when I went to the war, that Tim, 
my old trusty hand, went too and we got separated at 
the battle of Chickamaugua, and I never could hear of 
him afterwards. I have written to the War Depart- 
ment at Washington in order to get some information, 
but have as yet received no answer. It may be he is 
dead, poor fellow. He was a good soldier and he newer 
would leave me while in the service until we got . sepa- 
rated at that battle.” 

‘•Why John, he may have been taken prisoner and of 
course you would not hear from him.” 

As Florence made the last remark, John passed out at 
the door and started down town. As he passed the 
Postoffice, where a news stand was kept, he purchased a 
daily newspaper and seating himself on a box, began to 
read. He became so absorbed that he did not notice a 
person approaching him, briskly, dressed in a soldier’s 
uniform, for they wore their soldier cloths for a year or 
more after the war closed, until he felt a touch on the 
shoulder and a familiar voice called to him: 

“Faith an’ is it yourself, Misther Morehead, that’s 
alive and well. Sure’ an I thought that thim rebels had 
got yez sure, at the battle of Chickamaugua. I know I 
see thim on both sides falling right and left.” 

John jumped to his feet and grasped Tim by the 
hand, and exclaimed: 

“Why God bless you Tim! I thought you were dead. 
I could never hear of you after that charge on the rifle- 
pits at Chatanooga.” 

“Begorra, Misther, — excuse me Capt. Morehead.” 

“Never mind the Captain part. I don’t want to be 
called Captain, Tim. I’m a little Quakerish, and you 
just call me John Morehead; and tell me how it all hap- 
pened with you, and where have you been?” 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


39 


‘‘Begorra, that’s jist phat I was goin to tell yez 
Now Misther Moreliead, it was murther in the first 
degra, it was. You see the spalpeens tuck me a prison- 
er of war, so they did, and they stuck their bay’nets in- 
to me, so I jist had to give up.” 

‘‘Where did they take you to, Tim?” 

“Take me, did yez say, Mr. Moreliead? They took 
me to the infernal regions, so they did. I tell yez, if 
there ever was a hell on earth it was in Andersonville, 
Mr. Morehead, and that’s thrue, every word of it. If 
ould Nick was not there, all uv his imps was.” 

“Well, Tim, you got out safe and sound?” 

“Sound, did yez say Misther Morehead? And if ever 
there was a poor soldier come out of that hell-hole, 
afther bein’ in there a while, he would have to be iron 
clad, if he came out safe and sound. Jist look, if yez 
plaze, to me limbs and me arums — no bigger thin pipe 
stems.” 

“I am inclined to think they did not feed you very 
well, Tim, while a prisoner.” 

“Feed me, did yez say; would yez like to have the 
bill o’ fair, Misther Morehead? 1,11 tell yez fwat it was: 
It was nothing-at-all at-all for breakfast, and we ate 
what was left for dinner and supper, so we did; and for 
slapen we had the could ground, wid the sky and stahrs 
above us for a covering. And thin the crawlin’ insects 
to bite us and kape us rollin’ from side to side. And 
thin we had to stahnd and see our dead comrades carted 
away every niornin’, loike so many pigs. Bad luck to 
thim murthern thaves! May St. Peter turn his big keys 
on them in the bottomless pit. Call it what yez loik, 
but it was murther in the first degra. And thin would 
yez believe it, them statesmen and all the beig men of 
the nation a walkin’ and struttin’ around wid dere fine 
clothes on, and shoulder straps on, and livin’ in foin 


40 MAKRIED THE WRONG MAN. 

houses, and atein’ the best that grows on Gad’s grane 
earth — and we starhvin. llouly niither, I Moses! I 
wondher fwat human bein’s is made for? I done no.” 

“Well, Tim, you are out and back again, and among 
friends. You can have a home with me as long as you 
choose. So you go to the house and Florence or Quag 
will get you some dinner, and you must rest awhile.” 

‘‘Fwat you say, Misther Morehead? Is that nager 
wid yez yit? I taught she was down south lookin’ 
afther her ould man. Faith and I’m thinkin’ she’d as 
well look for a stray pig in a 100-acre corn field.” 

“Never mind the wench. She is a good kind person 
and a good cook, and as soon as she gets enough money 
she is going back down South to find her old man.” 

Tim did not wait for a second invitation to go, but 
went on to Morehead’ s house, and John went on read- 
ing his paper. He was soon again absorbed in his news 
items until he had obtained all the information appar- 
ently that he wanted. Then, folding it up carefully, he 
put it in Ms pocket and slowly walked down the street. 
As he did so he mused to himself in this wise: 

“I see the ex-soldiers are to be favored in regard to 
federol and other offices in the gift of the people and 
also by the President and those who have the dispens- 
ing of favors in that direction.” 

“Let me see,” continued John, “There is no office in 
this town in the gift of the people, or anyone else. 
Hold — let me see again — there is the postoffice, but 
there is a very good man in possession of it now, and a 
staunch man too, — that won’t do.” 

As John was in such an earnest thought, and so ab- 
sorben in his musings, that his last remark was made so 
loud that his old friend, Jo Baker, overheard him as he 
passed by his shop and he called him in with the re- 
mark: 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


41 


‘‘What is it, John, you are talking about? I guess 
you were in dead earnest. You thoeght out'"aloud, did- 
n’t you John?’ 

“Why yes, Jo, I am in dead earnest. You are right 
there.” 

“Well, what is it, John? Maybe I can help you out 
of the difficulty.” 

“Well, Jo, it is this: I see that the ex-soldiers are to 
be favored with offices, that is, they are to have any 
office in the gift of the President or the people, provid- 
ing they are qualified and perform the duties of any such 
they desire.” 

“Well, John, as you are out of a job, and you are an 
ex-soldier, why not put in your claim?” 

“That was just what I was thinking about when you 
called me in. But you see there is no office in this 
town but the Postoffice, and that, at present, is filled by 
a good Union man. Of course he is no soldier, and I 
don’t want to oust a good Union man.” 

“Poh, John, never mind that! If you desire the office 
why just get up a petition to the Postmaster General. 
I’ll sign the first name on it for you and then you will 
get enough on it to send up, and I’ll warrant you’l get 
It.” 

Now this Jo Barker was somewhat of an influential 
citizen in Danforth; had at the commencement of the 
war professed to be a strong Union man, but had, 
toward the last, become somewhat embittered against 
the Government, presumably on account of he not be- 
ing favored with a good paying military office. But 
when the war closed he had concluded to make amends 
and favor the soldiers. 

John thought the matter over for some time. It was 
true the office did not pay much in the place, but it 
would be a stepping stone to something else. 


42 


MAERIED THE WRONG MAN. 


‘‘Well, Jo,” continued John, “I’ll go home and have a 
talk with the folks and if favorable. I’ll be back after 
dinner and we will start a petition for the Postoffice and 
see what will be the result.” 

As John broached the Postoffice business on arriving 
at home, the idea seemed to be favorably received by 
the family, especially by Florence, who was not slow in 
discovering that there was. something there that prom- 
ised money. 

So it was arranged that the petition for the Postoffice 
should be circulated at once and as many names as 
could be obtained placed thereon. It was not long be- 
fore over a hundred names were procured on the peti- 
tion, and it was duly forwarded to the Department at 
Washington, D. C., for approval and action. 

Months passed and no word was received from it. 
John began to be despoudent. He had worked at what- 
ever he could find to do, but could not do much, owing 
to his crippled condition from injuries received in the 
service. 

The summer wore away and the fall months were 
coming in with their golden leaves; and barns and gran- 
eries were full to overflowing, for the American citizen- 
soldier could turn his hand to fight the battles of his 
country or to the tilling of the soil, as circumstances 
might require. So when the war was ended, they 
stacked their arms and again turned their attention to 
the tilling of the soil and cultivating their neglected 
farms, for the fruitful land gave forth her yield in 
abundance. 

The Autumn months gave way to the cold, bleak De- 
cember and John Morehead had about given up the 
idea of obtaining the Postoffice. True it was that there 
were very strong friends of the soldiers at Washington 
— members of Congress — who done what lay in their 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


43 


power, for the ‘^boys in blue” were importuned by their 
constitutants at home to lend their aid and influence for 
the Union soldiers. Let us see: 

But time and patience produce wonders; and as the 
cold weather began to grow seyere, an earnest appeal 
was made in behalf of the old veteran by influential 
men in power, and on Christmas day John Morehead 
was presented with his commission as Postmaster of 
Danforth. 

As John eagerly bore the precious document to his 
home and family, great was the rejoicing thereof, and 
especially with Florence, who began to see visions of 
fine things for her house. But the most delighted per- 
son was Tim Morarity, who, on learning the facts in the 
case, jumped to his feet and catching both of John’s 
hands, exclaimed: 

‘‘Bedad, but I node yez would git it. Begorra, but 
Captain — excuse me, Mr. Morehead, I forgot yez was a 
Quaker. John is fwat I’ll call yez. I was going to say 
them spallpeens as was thryin’ to kape yez out iv the 
ofiis are all iv thim blackgards. And its Tim Morarity 
as wijl tache thim a lesson, by the way iv a crack over 
the head wid me shelalah — ballawhack! Hurrah, Mr. 
Morehead, it’s meself as ’ll be mail conthractor and 
carry the lethers for Uncle Sam, and then its ivery one 
will get a big fat letter as wants it. Mr. John Morehead 
will be Postmaster and Tim Morarity the United States 
Mail Carrier. Sure and that’ll be a foin handle to me 
name, moind yez that.” 

Tim was in such ectacies that he executed an intricate 
double shuffle or Irish jig, all the while flourishing his 
shelalah as one who had been trained to it from his 
youth. John cautioned him to keep cool and not get 
excited. 

The next thing for John to do was to get a room or 


44 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


place that would be suitable wherein to put the office. 
One was easily obtained and he at once entered upon 
the duties of his office. Matters now began to be pros- 
perous with him once more and, as money was not only 
plenty but a drug, at the close of the war it could be 
obtained at a low rate of interest and some times with- 
out interest. 

John’s credit was in the ascendent and a small stock 
of goods were procured, which, in connection with the 
Postoffice, enabled him to get his head above water and 
assume the air of a merchant once more. Thus we find 
Mr. Morehead again on a good footing and looked up 
to by his, neighbors as a man of consequence. 

CHAPTER IV. 

We go back now to a time just before the close of the 
war and find that a widow lady of near forty-five sum- 
mers had moved into town and hung out a sign as fol- 
lows: ‘‘Mrs. Dedcom, Dressmaker.” She was a near 
neighbor to the Moreheads and an acquaintance quickly 
sprang up between Florence Morehead and this widow 
lady. 

This woman, apparently, had been well raised, had a 
good education and had three husbands — all dead. 
Most of her leisure time she spent at the Morehead 
dwelling; was to all casual observers, an earnest and 
devoted Christian; would make long prayers, and never 
missed an opportunity in prayer meeting to ventilate 
herself and her ideas on scripture and scripture texts. 
Her physiogomy was not to any great extent preposses- 
sing. Shill she had a way about her that was pleasing, 
and being vivacious and a good conversationalist, would 
readily engage the attention of those whom she would 
come in contact with, having a large, long nose with a 
small wart on one side. 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 45 

John Morehead never could like this 'woman. There 
was something about her that was very displeasing to 
him, and besides she was always talking on ‘^vomen’s 
rights,” and that women were nothing but slaves in 
their present condition; that they should be enfranchised 
and hold important offices same as the men. 

She had converted Florence to her ideas and Florence 
had listened until she became a regular disciple to her 
ideas. 

About one year after John had settled down to busi- 
ness, on coming home one evening he found Mrs. Ded- 
com and Florence engaged in an earnest conversation. 
So earnest were they tnat they did not notice Jolin’s 
appearance at first. 

‘‘Now Florence, you must know,” Mrs. Dedconi would 
say, “we women are going to have our nights. We are 
going to vote and hold office just like the men do. We 
have been slaves long enough, to the men; and then 
again, Florence, we are not to be tied to one man all the 
time. I tell you when I marry a man and I don’t like 
him. I’ll just quit him, divide up, and look out for'some 
one else to marry. I tell you I’m not to be tied to one 
man all the days of my life because it is the law. A hg 
for such a law! Then we are to have just as much 
wages as the men.” 

“Why,” says Florence, “your talk smacks strongly of 
Freelovism. You are not a Freelover are you?” 

Mrs. Dedcom: “Why not? Haven’t I a right to 
love who I please?” 

‘Wes', Mrs. Dedcom,” says John, “I should say you 
have a right to love who you please, provided you can 
get one to love you. 'This matter of love is a kind of 
reciprocity, aint it Mrs. Dedcom?” 

“Well, Mr. Morehead,” replies Mrs. Dedcom, snap- 
pishly, “you need not fret about that. I was only show 


46 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


ing the true principles of the relations which should ex- 
ist among the human race, and especially between man 
and woman, to Florence; and that matters pertaining to 
w'edded life are all wrong in this world.” 

“I infer,” says John, “from your conversation that 
you are an advocate of Women’s Rights, or Freelovism, 
or Socialism — I don’t know which.” 

“Well it is not necessary for you to know^ You men 
are always trying to keep us in ignorance, and be slaves 
to you Masculines. I tell you, Mr. Morehead, we are 
going to be free; do you understand^ The marriage re- 
lations are all wrong as the now exist and should be en- 
tirely abrogated. Did you never hear of a man marry- 
ing the wrong woman, and that their affinity was antag- 
onistic to each other?” 

“Well, well, as regards that,” replies John, “I never 
heard of a man marrying the wrong woman, but I ‘have 
some times thought that a woman might marry the 
wrong man. But tell me, Mrs. Dedcom, you are a firm 
believer in the scripture I see, which says that ‘when 
man and woman are joined together in matrimony, they 
twain shall become one flesh;’ ‘and what God has joined 
together let no man part asunder.’ ” 

“Mr. Morehead, that was said in olden times when 
people did not know any better. But nowadays we 
have learned different. We have become enlightened 
to a great extent and a new order of things has been 
inaugurated.” 

“Well,” says John, “new or old, I never yet found 
anything better than the Bible as a guide to go by and 
I don’t think I shall desert it now. I prefer the good 
old way. It seems to me to be the best. Our fore- 
fathers taught us to observe the Good Book; and in that 
book we learn that God created man in His own image 
and made him to have dominion over the beasts of the 


MAREIED THE WRONG MAN. 


47 


field and the fowls of the air; and he created woman 
from man for a helpmate and companion, not a slave as 
you state, Mrs. Dedcom.” 

sir, Mr. Morehead, nor to helpmate him, either. 
We women are going to be free, entirely free. That 
will be the order of things.” 

And passing out, she slammed the door behind her. 
John stood for a few moments in silence. Then taking 
a chair, he sat down beside Florence and spoke in this 
wise: 

“Florence, I have observed for some time past that 
Mrs. Dedcom’s idle time, and she appears to have a 
good ’eal, is spent with you. Now Florence, to be 
plain and honest with you, I don’t like that woman. I 
think she is stuffing your mind with all sorts of non- 
sense and foolishness. She has got some new fangled 
ideas in her head about women’s rights and tomfoolism, 
until she has become crazy on such things.” 

“Why John,” observed Florence, “she is a woman of 
knowledge and has read all about those matters and 
ought to know. There are the Jones and Markams — 
they all patronize her, and they all say she is smart.” 

“Well, Florence, I do not like that woman at all. 
She may be a good meaning person — but I know one 
thing, I don’t want any person to be a slave for me 
much less a woman. Neither would I want a woman 
or wife of mine to dabble in the muddy and filthy pool 
of politics. Man by nature, being the grosser one and 
entrusted with the more responsible burdens of life, 
such as digging and delving in the earth, guiding over 
the stormy sea the frail barks, and of handling the mus 
ket and canon in times of war, needs a helpmate of a 
more refined nature; one to whom, when the toils of the 
day are ended, he can apply to for solace and comfort; 
one to whom he can pour out his joys and sorrows to, — 


48 


MAiaUED THE WRONG MAN. 


but no slave, Florence, no slave, but angels of mercy, 
peace and love; to sooth the sick and afflicted, make 
glad the way-worn traveler, when worn down by fatigue 
and marching. No, Florence, none of such nonsense do 
I want, as that woman preaches.” 

As John was about to go on in the same strain, 
Earny, now quite a lad and who had been helping his 
father in the office, came into the room and told his 
papa that there was a man down at the hotel who 
wanted to sell him goods by sample. 

‘‘He is a nice looking man,” Earny continued, “and 
w^ears a big black plug hat; and he said for you to come 
down right away and buy a bill of goods.” 

“O my,” says Florence, “wont that be nice — to have a 
big stock of goods and a big store.” 

It was getting somewhat late, but John put on his 
overcoat and hat and went down to the hotel, accom- 
panied by Earny, and found the man — a commercial 
runner of the house of Gyves & Co. — wdth a large as- 
sortment of goods displayed. As John entered the 
room, the runner stepped forward with a bland smile» 
extending his hand. 

“Mr. Morehead, I’m glad to meet you. How is your 
health and your family?” 

John was somewhat taken aback by the friendly 
manner in wfflich the man addressed him, for he was un- 
acquainted with this new way of selling goods. It is 
needless to say that John w^as easily pursuaded into 
buying quite a bill, and of course he got credit for them 
easily, as the name of Morehead had been reported to 
the Commercial Agency as being perfectly good for 
small lines. 

Business matters were now flourishing with John and 
sales were satisfactory. However, it would have been 
much bette.i for John if credit had been refused him, at 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


49 


least to as great extent as that which he obtained. 

It might be well to remark here that the credit busi- 
ness proved to be a system that shipwrecked hundreds, 
nay thousands, of good men. Men who launched out on 
the commercial sea, getting goods on so easy terms, nat- 
urally became careless and sold on credit to persons of 
uncertain stability, and the consequence was a crash 
sooner or later. Not one in a hundred, as a rule, suc- 
oeded in business, especially in selling goods. 

As the months passed away into years, John More- 
head bought and sold goods on a fair profit, which, in 
connection with the office, enabled him to get along in 
the world swimmingly. 

However, Florence became more vain and lavish in 
her dress and expenditures — solmuch so that large de- 
mands were made on the purse of John Morehead, who 
began to make objections to the outlays of Florence’s* 
In fact, it had become a matter of serions import to 
John, for he had made draws on Postofiice funds which 
did not belogt to him and which his securities were 
liable for. 

Matters went on for some three years or more, when 
J ohn began to discover that his accounts were not even- 
ly balanced with the Government at the end of each 
quarter; and his creditors were again importunate. 

John Morehead should have profited by his former 
experience and remembered the maxim, “that a burnt 
child dreads the fire.” But time, the great healer of 
all maladies, makes one forget misfortunes to a greater 
or lesser extent. And so it was with him. When busi- 
ness was prospering he forgot, in a great measure, his 
former failure. However, John had great natural re- 
sources and was always wide awake to expedients, and 
generally managed to bridge over all hard places, and 
Avhen he got in a pinch for money he was often times 


50 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


helped through the had places by one Joseph Gobher, a 
German Jew, who lived in town and who was a money 
lender, and managed to get big interests on his loans 
whether he got his principal or not. If he got his in 
teres t, the principal was a matter of secondary consider- 
ation and of small import True he would always en- 
deavor to secure himself in some way, especially if the 
interest or bonus offered was big enough to excite his 
cupidity. He would get the interest in advance, gener- 
ally, and it was a long time before he discovered that 
he was loosing money by letting the principal go. 
Some times he would be induced to take a bill of sale 
on some imaginary piece of personal property, by sharp- 
ers who wanted money, which they never owned and 
which never existed. 

The first question asked by Mr. Gobher when a cuS' 
tomer would come for money, was: “How much inter- 
est can you pay me?” And some times the bonus asked 
was more than the principal. 

John Morehead had on several occasions got money 
from him when in a pinch, always paying it back 
promptly, which pleased Mr. Gobher, as he 'liked[ipunct- 
uality. A strong friendship sprung up between the 
money lender and John. The former would come to 
him for advice very often and which wasnone source of 
or cause of the intimacy existing between the two. 

It is proper to state here that this Mr. Gobher had 
come from the German provinces some time before the 
war; had worked in New Orleans, and passed over into 
Mexico by way of Brownsville and Matamoras, where 
he had amassed a considerable fortune. But getting 
disgusted with the Greasers in that country, and becom- 
ing afraid of being robbed — a thing by no means un- 
common in that country, — he had come up into tlie 
United States among “de Yankees,” as he termed them. 


MARRIED THE WRO^^G MAX. 


51 


He and John Morehead had long and frequent inter- 
views about the Mexicans, their government and laws, 
and especially the brigands that infested the country. 

‘‘I have frequently heard,” says John at one of these 
interviews, ‘^that those brigands who infest the country 
carry off persons of wealth and note to the mountains 
and after having them secure, demand of their friends 
a large sum of money by way of ransom,” 

‘‘That was frequently the case when I was there,” 
says Gobher. “I know it to be too true, as I had that 
experience myself.” 

“What,” says John, “were you ever taken away by 
the brigands?” 

“Vel I youst recon I was. I told you, mine frient 
Morehead, how dem sings bin. You see dem mountain 
robbers da haf frients in every town— what you call dem 
tings vot you shute mit wooden ducks, bench birds or 
pigens?” 

“I presume you mean stool pigeons, Mr. Gobher.” 

“Yes, that is youst vot I means — dem as dells de rob- 
bers who is rich and who is boor. Vel you see, ven da 
ask me about my affairs I youst tole dem pigeons dat I 
vas a poor Ducthman and haf nodings but mine close 
and mine tools. ‘Vel,’ da say, ‘dat is all right, but we 
don’t believe you. Yo be von Dutchman from Holland 
and ve no you haf some money.’ Vel, I say, da want a 
poor ole Dutchman da come and get him.’ So ven I go 
to mine bed I youst study about dem brigands all nite, 
I vas so fraid for mine self. But den, Mr. Morehead, 
dere was mine money; and if dem ugly fellows know it? 
vy den I vas a goner.” 

“You mean,” says John, “that your money would be 
a goner.” 

“Vel,” says Gobher, “it makes all de same. My 
money and me is all de same. Vel I youst took my 


52 


MARRIED THE AVRONG MAN. 


money and I hide him avay in de ground; und I says, 
noAV you Mister liobbers, you haf some troubles mit dat 
money. You find him. Vel, would you believe it, Mr. 
Morehead, von day dere vas a fine looking Greaser, he 
come to my shop vere I vas making some^saddles, und 
he says, ‘Mr. Gobher, I haf a fine horse oud dere in de 
grove. I vants you to make a saddle to fit him. Sen- 
ior vil please to come und see de horse.’ So I vas not 
tink, und ven I Avas oud in de grove, dere Avas more as 
twendy of dem brigand fellows come ride round me; 
and da say, ‘Youst get up on dat horse and go mit us.’ 
Vel I sees how it A^as bin and I youst got on dat horse. ’ 

“Why, where did they take you to?” 

“Dake me to? Vy to de mountains, to be sure. Und 
da say, ‘l^ow Mister Gobher, you can del your fronts 
dat da youst haf dot money, oud into dese mountaiiip, 
or ve hung you oup.” 

“Well how in the world did you .get away from them, 
Mr. Gobher?” 

“Yel I youst del you. Mister Morehead, hoAv dem 
sings bin. You see dem fellers vas great on blayen 
carts, und Monde of dree carts, und trinken der glaret 
vine; und ven da got up a big game, I says T bet you on 
dat cart if I haf some money. ‘Vel den,’ ses de boss 
robber, ‘ve vill dake dat bet. Youst blank doAvn der 
monish.’ How can I do dot, ses T, uud mine money is 
at der shop in der down. ‘Vel,’ ses he, ‘ve will youst 
sent a man mit you und you go and get the monish to 
bet on dat cart,’ So I ses all ride; and dat feller he got 
his big cutlas and youst makes me go before him; und T 
node he had orders to kill me if f vas going to get 
away. Dinks T. ole feller I am not going to gif up dot 
money youst now. So I vatches my chance und ven 
dot brigand vas not votching close I, durns arount 
und gif him such a blow dot send liini douAAm into a 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


53 


deep gully. Und I youst made dracks for de town, I 
del you.” 

‘‘Well, Mr. Goblier, I suppose you got your money 
all righ?’ 

“Not much, Mr. Moreliead, dot money is dere yet in 
de grount. I dels you dot no man can find him until I 
go hack und digs him oup. I youst sells my shop und 
doals und efery dings, und comes to de United States.’ 

“Well, Mr. Gobher,” says John, “you won’t find that 
money when you go back.” 

“Not find him, eh?” says Gobher, “don’t you nefer 
mind, Mr. Morehead, I show you.” 

John Morehead was much pleased and interested in 
the man’s story. But to think that a Jew would come 
away and leave money buried in the ground was to him, 
to say the least, a contradiction of what was generally 
conceded to be the trait in a Jew’s character. He might 
be a stool pigeon himself. 

CHAPTER V. 

There lived in the towu of Danforth a family consist- 
ing of the parents and four children, by the name of 
Ramble. Hezekiah was the Christian name of the one 
who should stand or set at the head of the table. He 
was a shiftless kind of a fellow; done what he could to 
provide for his family, but who subsisted, generally, by 
borrowing from their neighbors. It had become chronic 
with them to borrow something, so much so that no one 
of their neighbors thought of denying them anything 
when asked for in their way. 

Hezekiah would attend all the public gatherings about 
the neighborhood, would be at any trials before the 
Justice Court and get on the jury, or be a witness in 
some case, and manage in some way to get a few dimes 
each week — in fine he was a kind of odds and ends. 


54 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


providing there was not ranch work to be done. 

Mrs. Ramble would do a little work occasionally for 
her neighbors, but most generally passed her idle time 
in gossiping and borrowing a little sugar or a little 
coffee, and some times a little flour, from her neighbors. 
And by this means the Ramble family managed to eke 
out a precarious living 

Of the family there was two boys and two girls. The 
eldest (a boy) William, was disposed to be a different 
type from his father and try to make an honorable path- 
way through life; but the three others were disposed to 
follow in the footsteps of their parents. 

There had sprung up between William Ramble and 
Rosa Morehead an acquaintance, which was easily to be 
seen would end in something more if nothing inter- 
vened. But Rosa’s father, with a quick discernment, 
was not long in determining what this acquaintance 
would end in if suffered to go on unbroken. At the 
time this chapter opens, we And him talking with his 
daughter in this wise: 

“You know, Rosa, that the Rambles are a worthless 
set and I do not like to see you favoring William 
Ramble as a suitor. You should look to a better class 
of people than the Rambles.” 

“Well, papa,” Rosa would say, “William appears to 
be so different from the rest of the family that one 
would be inclined to think that he was of no kin to the 
other members of the family.” 

“Well Rosa, I have a right to you, as a father is the 
one to teach his children and guide them in the way 
they should go, and it is my desire and request that you 
have nothing more to do with the Ramble family. 
Why only see Rosa, only this morning Mrs. Ramble 
was here to borrow a little piece of meat for breakfast.” 

“I know it, papa, but it is not William’s fault. He 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


55 


works and earns wages, and then he studies of nights. 
He intends to make his mark in the world, so he says, 
and I believe it.” 

‘‘Well, Rosa, I don’t want this matter to go any fur- 
ther. I love you, my child, as a parent can only love 
his child. Your mother has become so estranged of 
late that a father’s yearnings naturally turn to his 
children.” 

“Well papa, dear papa, I will try and do as you say. 
I will not encourage William to come here any more, 
though I believe he intends going out into the world 
soon to see if there is not a way for him to make his 
mark. He told me yesterday, papa, that he was 
ashamed to have his mother and the children go about 
borrowing of our neighbors so much. But he said his 
arms were now strong and he was going to get a perma- 
nent place. But papa, I will try and do as you say.” 

“Well, Rosa, it is my wish and request that you have 
no more conversation with him.” 

And so saying, John Morehead turned away from his 
daughter and passing out of the door, left Rosa alone in 
the room. As the lastj steps of her father died away, 
Rosa thus soliloquized: 

“Well that’s the law laid down and by papa. too. who 
has a right to command his children; and his children 
should obey in all things consistent with — with — My, 
some one knocks! Who in the world can it be? I 
hope it is not William. He must not come in. My 
father’s commands must be obeyed. But why should 
he not come? He may be now ready to start out on his 
trip to better himself in the world. If it is him he shall 
come in, in spite of papa.” 

Again the knock was repeated and Rosa hesitating no 
longer, went to the door and gently raising the latch, 
saw William standing without. 


56 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


“O my,” exclaimed Rosa, as the light fell on the 
coiiiitenaiice of William. ‘‘O dear, my jiapa just gave 
me orders not to have anything to do with you. O why 
did you come here^ William! What shall I do?” 

“Miss Rosa, give yourself no uneasiness. I shall not 
enter your house again, if that is your father’s request, I 
assure you. I just came to say a word and to bid you 
goodbye, for I go out into the broad world tomorrow to 
help myself and earn a place among men. And Miss 
Rosa I thought I could not go away without telling 
you.” 

These last words were spoken as though they came 
up with a gulp, and William tried to hide his emotion. 
But Rosa, naturally of a quick conception, saw a tear 
course slowly down his cheek, which he tried to brush 
away unseen. Instantly all the womanly nature roused 
up and taking William by the hand, thus addressed him: 

“Dear William, do not cry about this. I did not 
want to hurt any one’s feelings. Papa was very much 
in earnest when he spoke as he did: but I don’t want 
you to feel bad about it. I know I like you, and you 
must come in and stay awhile; and — ” 

Rosa stopped short in her speech. She had admitted 
some things she did not intend; but it came from her 
heart and too late to take back. William though but a 
mere lad yet. saw at once the advantage to be gained; 
and taking her other hand in his contiiiued: 

“Miss Rosa, I know I am poor and unlearned, and 
that my parents are not what they should be. I know 
the neighbors look down on us — but Rosa, I am young 
and strong, and am going to fight my way up. Yes,” 
he continued witdi clenched fists, “I am going co fight 
my way up to an honorable place in this world. And 
with just one word of encouragement from you, Rosa, 
my arm would be much stronger — my heart would be 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 57 

lighter; and I could be content with my lot if you, dear 
Rosa, Avould just say ^God bless you’ in real good earn- 
est. I heard the preacher say that last Sunday and I 
thought the words sounded so good.” 

Rosa was a willing listener to all William said and 
was waiting to get a word in as he stopped short. 

“Well then, God bless you,” said Rosa in deep, sol- 
emn earnest 

“Thank you. Miss Rosa;” and clasping both her 
hands more tightly, and imprinting a burning kiss on 
each, he bounded away and was out of sight in a 
moment. 

Rosa stood for a few minutes gazing out into the 
darkness after him, then turned slowly around and Avent 
into the house; and as she shut the door, she fervently 
claped her hands and once more repeated the words, 
“God bless you.” 

CHAPTER VI. 

“Good morning, Esquire Bloss. How does the world 
use you these days?” 

“Good morning. Lawyer Smart; thank you, pretty 
well. Only a little talk occasionally about our Post- 
master.” 

“Why what in the world do you mean. Squire, about 
our Postmaster? Is he getting tangled up any in busi- 
ness matters?” 

This conversation was carried on in the office of the 
only hotel in Danforth, between ’Squire Bloss and 
Lawyer Smart, two very worthy functioneries of the 
place. Lawyer Smart generally had an eye to business 
and was always looking up cases for litigation; and it 
mattered not whose ox got gored, provided he could 
secure a fee, however small it was. ’Squire Bloss was 
a dapper little fellow of rotund form and always prying 


58 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


into everyone’s business; and generally on good terms 
with those whom he considered his equals, he never 
acknowledged any superiors. 

“I want to know if John Morehead is likely to get 
into a pinch. I must look after that a little. I wonder 
if there is a chance for a fee from some of his credi- 
tors? I heard the other day that his business affairs 
were not all satisfactory. ’Squire Bloss, we must look 
after this matter; there may be something in it.” 

“I tell you, Lawyer Smart, I know that John More- 
head can’t hold his head up much longer, for I heard 
Deacon Blake’s wife tell Samantha Jones that she heard 
Manda Wells say that Mr. Morehead was not doing so 
well with his stock of goods as he might.” 

“Yes,” says Lawyer Smart, “since you mentioned it 
I did hear that Florence makes use of money that does 
not belong to them. She must be kept up, you know, 
in her tomfoolery and buying finery. Now I’ll tell you, 
’Squire Bloss, let us work into one another’s hands, and 
if John Morehead fails, we can easily get to be the 
assignees; or we can get a job of fixing up papers and 
making out mortgages, invoices or something of the 
kind.” 

“Now let us find out about this matter. Lawyer 
Smart,” observed ’Squire Bloss. “I tell you we may be 
able to get something to do in the matter. Let us each 
find out what we can and meet here this evening and 
report progress.” 

“Agreed. Now be punctual and let us lay plans for 
the future.” 

It was very evident that John Morehead was pinched 
for money; and it began to be whispered in social circles 
that he would be compelled to make an assignment or 
mortgage property in order to keep his business going. 

As John went home on the evening in question, he 


MARRIED THE AVROXG MAN. 


59 


found Florence in a fluster — everthing seemed to have 
gone wrong with her. He, too, was in a bad humor. 
Creditors were importunate about their claims. 

‘‘I tell you, Mr. Morehead, I am going to see my 
father. It is very singular that I can’t have some 
money to go and see my folks when I want to.” 

‘‘Why Florence, I never refused you any money when 
we could spare it and you was in need of it. But you 
must bear in mind that we are just at this time very 
hard up for money. There is a crash among the banks 
and men are failing all over the country. We must use 
economy if we get along in this world. Could you not 
wait a few months until this panic is over and then go 
and have a visit with your parents?” 

“Mr. Morehead, if I can’t have money when I want it 
I will find some one who will furnish me money. Do 
you suppose that I am going to work like a nigger all 
my life and get no pay for it? No, sir, Mr. Morhead! 
I’ll see if I can not have what I want; and if you can’t 
let me have what I need. I’ll find some one that will.” 

“Why Florence, I don’t object to you wanting to go 
on a visit. I am but too glad to have you go. It was 
only a proposition of mine to wait a little until the 
crash is over.” 

“Yes, you always have some excuse to put me off. 
Now I’m going; do you understand. I’m going and you 
can like it or not!” 

As Florence passed out of the door and slammed it 
behind her, John Morehead thus soliloquized to himself: 

“I believe Florence is getting worse and worse every 
day. Now she knows I am in a pinch for money, and 
just now of any time in the year I am the hardest up. 
If I could have her support in these trying times, I be- 
lieve I could get safely over this hard time. But if I 
have to furnish her money at the present time I may 


60 


MAERIED THE WRONG MAN. 


not be able to continue in business. I want her to go 
and see her people, and have a good time visiting 
around. I believe there should be unanimity between 
man and wufe; the two should be one in purpose, one in 
aim and one in the welfare of the family. And if the 
wife does not support the husband with her counsel and 
advice, and second his efforts in all that pertains to the 
welfare of the family, then a man might work and labor 
forever and die a poor man at the end. A man and 
wife should agree, and the wife being the ministering 
angel, the husband should be guided by her counsel 
when in doubt himself — but Neither a slave for the 
other, but a helpmate. That is scripture, and I’ll stand 
by it. But one thing seems strange to my mind and 
one I have never yet been able to fathom: Florence has 
smiles for other men and none for me. It may be that 
she married the wrong — ” 

“Papa, mama says as how she is going to grandpa’s 
on the first boat. Why papa, what makes you look so 
earnest and sad? I hope you are not going to have any 
trouble any more; we have had enough of that, O, I 
wish I could help you, papa.” 

John Morehead’s soliloquy was cut short by Rosa 
coming into the room and bursting out in the manner 
above described. 

John Morehead stooped down and imprinted a kiss 
on his daughter’s forehead and observed as he did so: 

“I fear your papa will see trouble again, Rosa. 
Once before I had trouble and thought that it would 
never come again. But if some persons were like you, 
Rosa, there would be no failure with me.” 

“Well, papa, I will do anything in the world for you. 
Only let me know what it is you will have me do.” 

“No, no, Rosa, it is not in your province to help me 
now. Go, my dear daughter, and tell your mother that 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


61 


I will endeavor to get the money to defray her expenses 
to her parents.” 

As Mrs. Morehead’s parents lived in a distant state, 
the expense of a trip of that kind would involve the out- 
lay of near one hundred dollars. But by strict economy 
and dividing payments, John was enabled to send Flor- 
ence on her way; but previous to her starting, he ex- 
acted a promise, or an agreement, from her that she 
would in the future be more considerate. In fact, John 
had become somewhat despondent and cast-dowui, 
However, he managed to keep business, to all outside 
appearances, going on. 

That evening, ’Squire Bloss and Lawyer Smart met at 
the hotel and had a talk about Morehead’s affairs. 

“Do you know,” says ’Squire Bloss, “that I have tried 
very hard to find out about John’s affairs, but don’t 
make much headway. But this much I do know, that 
he is getting money of that Jew moneylender, Gobher.” 

“And that is the reason he holds out so. I know that 
Jew will get him yet, for he knows Morehead is an hon- 
orable man and will pay his debts — and big interest, 
too.” 

“And that big interest is what will beat John More- 
head,” observed ’Squire Bloss. 

“Well,” observed Lawyer Smart, “if we can get him 
started down hill once, why then the wreck will have to 
come and we can come in for a share of the spoils in 
some way or other.” 

As the two were talking in low tones and were very 
earnest in what they said, they did not observe Tim 
Morarity lounging on a bench not far from where they 
were sitting, but who was enabled to catch a few words 
and the meaning of them; and putting this and that to- 
gether he was enabled to find out the run of their con- 
versation. 


02 


MARRIED THE AVRONG MAN. 


Tim was hardly able to suppress his indignation at 
the two gentlemen who held the conference; but biting 
his lips he started out, intending to inform John of what 
he heard. But on arriving at his house he found all 
abed and so deferred his mission. 

After Tim left the hotel, ’Squire Bloss and Lawyer 
Smart went their way; but it was the understanding that 
they were to keep a sharp lookout on John Morehead 
and his business. 

As Tim went slowly along to his lodging, he thus so- 
liloquized to himself: 

‘ And fwat’s the matter wid John, I wondher? I fear 
he is livin’ too fast, altogether. But thin that woman 
of his, she’d beat ould Satan himself and give ’im all 
the short rows to boot. Bedad but Mr. Morehead can’t 
prosper wid such a dead load as that woman makes. 
It’s money, money, all the time with her. She may be 
an honest iierson — Tim Morarity will not say that she 
is not — but divil the bit can a man get on in this world 
who is tied down to a woman who has smiles for every 
one but her husband.” 

As Tim reached his lodging, he observed John More- 
head walking along towards his home. Tim was the 
first to speak. 

“And is that you, Mr. Morehead. I thought yez were 
ill bed, for I was there this blessed minute, and the 
doors and windows were all shut and no one in sight.” 

“Why, Tim, Florence is gone to see her parents and 
the rest are all in bed but me, and I was just taking a 
little walk before retiring.” 

‘ Why, John,” observed Tim, “I undherstand that yez 
is getting into trouble once more. I accidently over- 
heard Lawyer Smart — the blackguard — and ’Squire 
Bloss, down at the hotel, saying that you were in trouble 
about business. Now Mr. Morehead,” continued Tim, 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


63 


‘‘if the spalpeens are in earnest and tell the truth, you 
will have to make an assignment. Is it thrue, John?” 

‘•Well, Tim, it is no use denying the truth. To say 
the least, I am in a tight place for money. I may be 
able to pull through, but I see no way out at present. 
Then there is Florence. She is very exacting in her 
demands and is all the time wanting money. Money is 
all her desire and appears to be the God of her ambi- 
tion. Rosa, bless the dear child, will do everything in 
her power for me. She is so self-denying. It makes 
my heart bleed to think how patient she takes all my 
losses and crosses in this life. I believe, Tim, that girl 
was given to us for a solace, a comfort in our struggles. 
Barney is now quite a lad, but careless and unconcerned. 
He cannot help me any. But Tim, I shall fight man- 
fully before I give up ibis time. I will try every ex- 
pedient to get over the hard places and it may be that I 
will succeed. What was it Tim, that ’Squire Bloss and 
Lawyer Smart were saying?” 

“Why, Mr. Morehead, you see the spalpeens were, 
were, sayin’ that yez wad have to make an assignment 
and that they would get a job of making out the papers 
or envqicing goods, and all that sort of things — some 
legal business.” 

“Well, Tim, I am going to do for the best, but it is 
all the way up hill, I assure you. I am going to have a 
talk with aunty. Her advice is better than all the law- 
yers in Christendom. How, Tim, you will keep your 
ears open when you hear any one speak of my business 
and report to me.” 

“And me eyes shut. Oil do. that, Mr. Morehead, 
don’t yez fear. It’s Tim Morarity that’l do it.” 

When John Morehead reached his house it was near 
midnight, and being worried and exhausted from the 


64 


MAKEIED THE AVKONG MAN. 


day’s labor, he retired to bed and was soon lost in a 
troubled slumber. 


CIIArXER VII. 

As it had been several days since Mrs. Dedcom had 
visited the Morehead mansion, she w^as especially well 
supplied with most everything that had transpired in 
Danforth for the last two weeks and a large amount of 
extra gossip had to be attended to, not to forget the 
new Presbyterian minister, Matthews by name, who had 
just made his debut into Danforth; and who, by the 
way, was a widower and a very exemplary man. 

And as Mrs. Dedcom flopped herself down by the side 
of Florence, she began to unwind herself in a hurry, 
keeping up all the points. 

‘‘Now Florence,” says she, “don’t it beat all nature 
how people will talk. The word is that John will have 
to make an assignment; and the lawyers and justices are 
already commenting on the probabilities of a job. And 
would you believe it, Florence, our new minister bowed 
to me on the street to-day. I just think he is a nice 
man and I shall make it a point to call on him. That is 
perfectly right and proper to call on our minister, you 
know, Florence. And don’t you think it right and 
proper that a minister should be married? I expect it 
would be better to have an introduction. What would 
you do, Florence? Would you make a formal call and 
i’ltroduce yourself, eh? It would not be overstepping 
the bounds of etiquette, eh? He is our minister you 
know. He certainly will not think me rude; and then 
there is that meddlesome thing, Jane Strong — he was 
talking to him, don’t you think, last Sunday after 
church. Now Florence, what would you advise.” 

“Well,” says Florence, ‘‘flrst I would find out if he 
had any money or was worth anything; and then I think 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


65 


I would let him make the first advance — yes, ard pop 
the question, if he wished. I could stand it if he had 
plenty of money.” 

‘‘Well I shall not loose any time about this matter 
and I’m just going to let Jane know her place, the hor- 
rid old thing! A deacon’s daughter ought to know bet- 
ter than to think of marrying a minister.” 

“I sujqDOse,” says Florence, “that a deacon’s daughter 
is as good as anyone.” 

“Yes, but don’t you know that they should not be 
pushing themselves in when other folks are around. 
Yes, and there is Mrs. Potter. She says it is highly im- 
proper for a widower, who is a minister of the gospel, 
to go to church with a lady who is one of the pillars of 
the church, and be gallanting them about to festivals 
and evening meetings. Bless me, Florence, don’t you 
think the other evening Deacon Strong took Jemima 
Peters home from the prayer meeting and said ’cause it 
was so dark that Sister Peters could not see and must 
have some one to go Mdth her to keep her from falling 
in the ditch. If people can do that then I am sure that 
I can call on Brother Mathews with the best of propri- 
ety. Yes and there it that horrid old thing, Polly Pil. 
ger, sticking herself in. I’ll give her to undersland that 
I am not going to be snubbed by such a thing as she is. 
Why, Florence, would you believe it, she told Deacon 
Baown that no minister should marry outside of the 
church and that, too, before me — right then and there. 
Well I shall make it known to Deacon Strong that I am 
about to connect with the church. Wouldn’t that be 
right. Florence? You see I could be great help at 
our sewing society. If I should marry Brother Mat- 
thews how every one will envy me. I am not a member 
of the church now, but I am going this blessed minnte 
to see Deacon Strong. O my, Florence, I am not going 


66 


MAKRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


to be tied down to one man. I don’t believe that a 
woman was made for a slave — no, I’ll be a slave for no 
one. Let us see, Florence; if I should marry Brother 
Matthews I would be a minister’s wife, wouldn’t I? 
But see then, a minister’s wife should be a very plain 
dressed person. But I’ll see about that. I will inform 
Brother Matthews that I’m to have a seal-skin sack, yes 
and a moreantique dress, and a new hood, and a brosha 
shawl, and, and, a — ” 

‘‘My, Mrs. Dedcom, don’t count chickens before they 
are hatched,” says Florence. “But you are right about 
not being a slave, Mrs. Dedcom. Don’t be a slave for 
anyone, nor marry anyone for money. Just show them 
that women are independent.” 

And Florence was about to continue, when Mrs. Ded- 
com rose to her feet in great trepidation and exclaimed: 

“Lordy, if there don’t come Mr. — I mean Brother 
Matthews. O my, what shall I do! O my hair — sakes 
alive just look at it, Florence, and my dress — see the 
spots on it! O Lordy, what shall I do if Brother Mat- 
thew^s sees it?” 

“Stop, Mrs. Dedcom,” says Florence, “don’t make 
yourself ridiculous. Let the minister come if he wants 
to. He wont hurt us.” 

“Well yes, Florence, but you must just let me talk to 
him myself. There he knocks. Come in Brother Mat 
thews,” says Mrs. Dedcom. “O my, it should have 
been Florence to say come in! Well, I’ll talk to him 
anyway.” 

As Mr. Matthews entered he bowed to both Mrs. 
Dedcom and Florence, and after passing the compli- 
ments of the day, took the proffered chair. As he did 
so, he announced that he was soliciting aid for the for- 
eign missions and was desirous of obtaining what funds 
that could be raised in his branch of the church, to be 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


67 


forwarded to. the missions in the South Sea Islands. At 
the mention of his business, Mrs, Dedcom took the 
reins of the subject out of Brother Matthews’ hands and 
launched forth. 

‘‘Brother Matthews, it is a shame we don’t do more 
for those poor, benighted people who are suifering for 
clothing and food; and there are the poor children who 
are entirely naked. Aint that too horrid. Brother Mat- 
thews?” 

Brother Matthews started in to explain that their 
country was a warm country, but what they stood in 
need of was the gospel. But Mrs. Dedcom cut him 
short at the word warm and chimed in. 

“Yes, Brother Matthews — I always call good Chris- 
tian people brother,” she added by way of parenthesis. 
“I know you will pardon my seeming boldness. But as 
I was going to say. Brother Matthews, we should be 
more warm-hearted (laying stress on the word ‘warm’); 
we should not be so cold in our affections; we should be 
more congenial in our relations with each other, and — 
don’t you think so. Brother Matthews? Yes we cer- 
ainly should give something to the heathens — the poor 
unfortunate things, how do they ever live in such a hot 
country, and is it a fact. Brother Matthews, that they 
eat one another up? Aint that horrid?” 

“And that is what we w^ant to teach them — to obey 
the laws of God and respect the marriage relations,” 
Mr. Matthews was going to add, but was again cut short 
by Mrs. Dedcom, at the word “marriage,” and again 
took the word out of the minister’s mouth and con-^ 
tinned: 

“Yes I’d have them learn to get married. That you 
know, Brother Matthews, is a direct command of 
Divinity. Yes, our Government should send a man-of- 
war over and compel the heathen to marry. And they 


68 


MAKKIEI) TlJE WRONG MAN. 


do say that them chief or head men have so many wives* 
Aint that horrid, Brother Matthews? It would not be 
so bad if the women had the same privilege of having 
as many men — excuse me, Brother Matthews, but I was 
letting my thoughts run away. But Brother Matteews, 
don’t you think that the married state is the most 
happy?” 

At this point in the conversation, Florence, who had 
been an unwilling listener, bow?d to Mr. Matthews and 
excusing herself, passed out and left the other two to 
conclude the interview. As she left the room, Mrs. 
Dedcom pushed her conversation with the minister 
afresh. 

“Now Brother Matthews, I’m a lone widow and full 
of sorrows, and you are left alone in the world; and as 
you was saying, the heathen ought to be educated. I 
am willing to do my part. But really. Brother Mat 
thews, don’t you think that persons could enjoy their- 
selves much better in the matrimonial state and be more 
happy?” 

“Well, Mrs. Dedcom,” replies Mr. Matthews, “that 
depends on the kind of state the matrimonial state 
makes it.” 

“O, yes, deal Brother Matthews,” going up to him 
and kindly caressing him, “you are a poor lone widow^ 
er in the world and have no one to care for you; but 
there is one who cares for you — yes. Brother Matthews, 
there is one who does — ” 

‘^What is the matter with you women? I came 
here—” 

“Yes I know you came here— to see me, didn’t you? 
Yes, I am your long lost affinity.” 

“Get out with your affinity,” yelled Mr. Matthews, “I 
came here to solicit a — ” 

“Yes, I know you did,” broke in Mrs. Dedcom once 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


09 


more. ‘‘Yes, you came to solicit my hand; but you 
treat me so cruelly that I wont have anything to say to 
you anymore.” 

“Madam, you must be aware that a minister of the 
gospel must be about the business of the church. I bid 
you good day, madam.” 

At this, Mr. Matthews reached for the door knob, and 
as he attempted to pass out, Mrs. Dedcom stepped in 
front of him and in a rage, said: 

“Mr, Matthews, you are a brute, and I shall report 
you to the deacons of the church for being here alone 
with a lone widow!” 

At this last remark, Mr. Matthews jerked the door 
open and passed out, slamming it shut behind him. As 
he did so, Mrs. Dedcom flopped herself down in a chair 
and thus soliloquized: 

“Well, if that is the way I’m to be treated by our 
minister — I don’t mean our minister; I say, that one you 
call a minister — then I reckon he’ll not get much for the 
haathen out of me. I reckon he’ll go and see that hor- 
rid old thing, Jane Stroj^g. Well, let him go. I’ll see 
to it that the deacons know how he was here with me 
all alone — and me a lone widow! Yes, I’ll flx him and 
let him know not to trifle with a lone widow’s feelings 
in such a manner. Heathens — yes, he-is a heathen him- 
self. High ho, well, well! I’m going this blessed min- 
ute to Deacon Strong’s. I’ll let ’em know not to trifle 
with me — a poor, lone, desolate widow.” 

When Mr. Matthews was gone, Florence re-entered 
the room and seating herself beside Mrs. Dedcom, ob- 
served to her that she hoped she had made a smash on 
the minister; and then began her own complaint, observ- 
ing to Mrs. Dedcom that she would on the morrow leave 
the place and go on her journey to see her folks. 

“John Morehead can stay here if he wants to, but he 


To MAERIED THE WRONG MAN. 

lias no money — is broke np; and I suppose I’m to be a 
slave all life. What is a man for, anyway, if he can’t 
take care of his wife and children? And I’ve got to 
have money, yes, plenty of money, too.” 

This was said partly by soliloquizing and party to 
Mrs Dedcom: and as the two women rose to their feet 
their was a slamming of doors through the house. 

On the morrow Florence departed from her home, 
leaving her children behind. She seemed to have ne 
regrets about doing so. 

As she had observed to Mrs. Dedcom, her husband 
was about broke up a second time; had no money or 
means; had strained his already tottering credit in order 
to get money for his wife to go on her journey. To 
the readei, let it be said, would it not have been to the 
credit of Mrs. Florence Morehead if she had stayed 
with her husband in the hour of his sore need and 
assisted him, if in no other way, with her counsel and 
advice — nay more, with a kindly smile and a word of 
encouragement; and a ‘‘God bless you, I will go where 
you go; your lot shall be my lot, and whithersoever 
thou diest, there I will die also.” 

But she was not the woman to face misfortune with 
her husband. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

In our last account of John Morehead, we left him in 
bed at his own dwelling, in a troubled sleep. When he 
awoke next morning, and dressed himself for breakfast 
and for the days labors, it was late in the day. But 
after taking a walk and a cup of coffee for breakfast he 
felt considerably refreshed. 

On going down town, his mind was over-run with the 
store duties he felt bound to perform. Some times his 
heart would almost fail him, but then he would brace up 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 71 

again and resolve to face the storm. That there were 
some sharpers on his track and his case presented a shin- 
ing mark for the human vultures to feed themselves on, 
he had no doubt. 

As he went along, he was joined by Tim; but as he 
was to go and counsel with aunty, he turned back and 
found her in the sitting room in deep thought, working 
with her knitting. 

‘‘Well, aunty,” says John on entering the room, ‘ it 
seems that I am to become a bankrupt once more, and it 
is so hard to have to give up again; but everything 
seems to work against me. It is no use to fight against 
fate. What shall I do, aunty?” 

“Well, John,” replies aunty, “thee must always ob- 
serve one thing, and that is to act honorable with all 
men. Do unto' others and thy neighbors as thee would 
they should do unto thee. This is the Savior’s com- 
mandent. On this hang all the laws and prophets. 
But I came near forgetting, John, that the first great 
commandment is, ‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God 
with all thy might, main and strength.’ And then 
comes in the other — ” 

“Well, auntie,” replies John, “you can beat me quot- 
ing scripture and I gness you must sight with them 
.‘thees’ and ‘thous’ and ‘thys.’ One thing I am sure of 
and that is, I want to do what is right. Yes. and I will 
do what is right. I know that is good Quaker doctrine, 
aunty, eh?” 

“Yes, John, thee is right. Tho’ the Heavens do fall, 
do right.” 

“Well, auntie, then the best thing for me to do is to 
make an assignment and treat all my creditors alike. 
And if there is not enough to pay in full, then pay pro 
rata. That is the best I can do under the circum- 
stances. And I’ll write it over my store door tomor- 


12 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


row morning, ‘Do Right.’ Yes, and John Moreliead 
\vill do Mdiat is right if the Heavens do fali and the sun, 
moon and stars with it.” 

“Yes and Tim Morarity will baek yez up wid me she- 
lalah to hoot and sthand til yez back to kape the murd- 
thren spalpeens away to nioind their oin business,’. 

Although Tim had been cautioned by John to keep a 
sharp lookout on ’Squire Bloss and Lawyer Smart, he 
had became so interested in John Morehead’s welfare 
that he had followed him back to his house and was a 
silent and unobserved listener to the conversation be- 
tween John and aunty. And when the interview was 
ended and he had heard the of John’s, he could contain 
himself no longer and slipped in at the door without 
being observed by either John or aunty, began to give 
vent to his feelings as above stated. 

As John turned around, he observed Tim standing 
there inside the door with a big shelalah under his arm. 
he thus addressed him: 

“Why Tim, I thought you were looking out for them 
fellows I told you to watch.” 

“Bedad, and haven’t I, tho’; and is it Tim Morarity 
that would betray his trust? Divil the bit; and moind 
yez that. Oi was afther thim slippery fellows and kapin 
a mink’s eye on their law movements.” 

“Well, Tim, did you learn anything about ’Squire 
Bloss and Lawyer Smart?” 

“The houly Vergin and the blessen saints prottict yez, 
Mr. Moreliead; and that is fwat I was jist goin’ to spake 
till yez about. Why you see the sheriff is in town and 
he says that he has ordhers to shut Mr. Morehead’s 
store up.” 

“Well, if that is the case,” says John, “then I will at 
once make out the papers and name my assignee. You 


MAHRIED THE WRONG MAN. IS 

stay here, Tim, with aunty, and I will go and do the 
thing at once. I will do — ” 

He did not finish the words, for he was confronted on 
the threshold of his door by ’Squire Bloss, Lawyer 
Smart and the sheriff. 

‘^Hello,” says ’Squire Bloss; ‘^Hello,” says John. 

“Mr. Morehead, Lawyer Smart and myself have come 
over to offer you our help. You know,” says ’Squire 
Bloss, hesitating. 

“You see,” says Lawyer Smart, “I suppose it is no 
use denying the fact, Mr. Morehead. You are about to 
be closed up by the sheriff.” 

“Well, what can’t be cured must be endured,” says 
John. “I am just starting out to make an assignment; 
and I’m going to do right in this case and treat every 
one alike, who are my creditors.” 

“That is just what I advise,” says ’Squire Bloss. 

“Yes, Mr. Morehead,” chimed in Lawyer Smart, “the 
best thing to do is to make an assignment. You can 
make me your assignee and your creditors will not 
bother you any more, I can take charge of your busi- 
ness. Make out your papers to me. ’Squire Bloss here 
can acknowledge them, and if you make over any real 
estate, he can acknowledge the transfers in a proper 
manner.” 

“Yes, Mr. Morehead,” says ’Squire Bloss, “I have 
done a considerable amount of this kind of business and 
if you will just come over to my office we wdll fix up the 
matter in a short time.” 

“You know, Mr. Morehad,” says Lawyer Smart, “that 
when an assignment is made, that stops all law proceed, 
ings and we have ninety days to report in, and if we 
don’t take an account of everything no one will be the 
wiser in regard to it.” 

“Yes, that’s so,” says ’Squire Bloss. “We can report 


^4 MARRIED THE WRON'G MAX. 

the matter as being entirely bankrupt; the stock that 
you have now on hands we can say did not turn out 
well and pay the expense of the assignment. And you 
can take a part and we a part, and let the creditors go 
to the devil. Mr. Smart, that’s the way to fix these 
matters up; don’t you think so, too, Mr. Morehead?” 

John Morehead listened to the proposals and argu- 
ments of the two men in silence. He had determined 
to do what was riglit about the matter from the first. 
But the talk of the two men did not meet with his 
views of the way the business should be done. How- 
ever, it was all new to him, and he was willing to do 
and go according to the advice of his friends; and when 
’Squire Bloss spoke about the way to conduct an assign- 
ment, and that most of the goods could be smuggled 
away, John Morehead wavered and began to see a 
chance to get away from his creditors without turning 
out all of his effects. Yes, John Morehead wavered and 
staggered under the idea advanced by the two legal 
gentlemen; but thanks be to his honor, it was only for 
a few minutes. 

He saw the gulf into which he would be plunged; the 
disgrace that would be sure to follow a discovery; and 
then he roused himself up from his seeming lethargy. 

“No, gentlemen, John Morehead will do nothing you 
propose. I have set my stake and if I can find an 
honest man to make an assignee of, I will do so; if not, 
then the sheriff will proceed.” 

And as he spoke these words, he waved the men back 
and passed out. 

On the day following, John Morehead’s store was 
closed up by his creditors; as no one could be found to 
take the place of assignee, this was the inevitable. He 
procured a small building close by on the same street to 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 

pat tlie Postoffice in, and let the sharks devour the re- 
mains of his stock of mcrcliandise. 

CHAPTER IX. 

“Come here, Erney,” says Rosa, “and let us play 
keeping store. You know papa keeps store. You be 
storekeeper and papa and I will come in and buy goods of 
you.” 

“No, no,” says Erney, “that is not the way. We 
must first buy the goods before we can sell them. Yes, 
and pay for them, too. Now I’ll go and buy a stock of 
goods and bring them here, and then you be my custom- 
er. That is the way papa does and the people come in 
and buy.” 

“Well, what shall we do when the man comes in and 
wants his pay for the goods?” says Rosa. “Have you 
got the money to buy with, Erney?” 

“No,” says Erney. “Don’t papa buy on tick and I 
can do so, too. That is the way papa does.” 

“Well, but pay-day comes by and by, you know, 
Erney.” 

“Well. I can make an assignment,” says Erney; “that 
is the way papa and other merchants does.” 

“O my, Erney, that don’t seem right — ’taint right 
either, for just yesterday there was a man who came to 
papa’s store and said he must have his pay for what 
goods he sold to papa; and papa looked so bad cause he 
told the man he had no money to pay him. Then the 
man went off mad and said he would sue papa. O, 
Erney, I felt so bad! I tell you, Erney, we must help 
papa to pay the man.” 

“Why Rosa, we aint got any money. What can we 
do?” 

“Why,” says Rosa, “I will sell my big doll and Jim 
the canary; and you can sell your sled and rocking 


70 MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 

horse, and we can help papa, can’t we? Yonder comes 
papa now, Erney. Let us do what we can.” 

As John Morehead reached his home, the children 
ceased and he m^s met by Rosa at the door. She saw 
trouble on lier father’s face at once, in fact, she had for 
several days observed it, but forebore to say anything 
to hurt her father’s feelings, well knowing that he was 
in trouble about his business again. 

“Why papa, what makes you look so bad? Have the 
officers closed you out again? I heard so thit# morning. 
Dear papa, why do you take so much trouble about it? 
They can’t take you and put you in jail, can they? Let 
them take the goods and everything else. I don’t like 
the looks of them men who were talking to you this 
morning down at the store. Do they mean to do right, 
papa? If I could only help you in some way — it is 
money you need, dear papa, I know it. If you only 
had money to pay those creditors off, then you would be 
all right wouldn’t you, dear papa?” 

“Yes, my dear child, there is the trouble. If I only 
had some money to bridge me over a hard place I be- 
lieve I could get through: but fate seems ugainst me, 
Rosa.” 

“Well, papa, I could help you, I know I could. I 
could sell my doll, and my canary and the cage. I 
could do this, dear papa, and Erney would sell his rock- 
ing horse and sled, and we could get a lot of money that 
way; and then, papa, w^e could pay what you owe and 
then we would all be so happy once more.” 

“My dear child, don’t talk <!o; it breaks my heart to 
hear you talk that way. I will go and work by days 
work — yes, I will lay in jail, before you, my dear 
child, shall be deprived of one of your play things.” 

“Why, papa, it only gives me pain to see you in 
trouble; and if Erney and I sell our play things and 


MARRIED THE AVRONG MAN. 77 

lielj^ you out, dear papa, it is our Avill and pleasure to 
do so.” 

“O my dear child, you know not of what you talk. 
You must not, dear Rosa, think of selling your doll and 
canary for my benefit. No, no, Rosa, it is my province 
to make you, my dear children, happy in this world. 
You break my heart, now almost ready to burst with 
misfortune; no, no!” 

‘‘Why papa, what makes you shed tears? I will and 
can do for you — only let me know what it is.” 

John Morehead had faced death in a hundred ways — 
had been in battle, where the roar of cannon and rattle 
of musketry Avas deafening to his ears; where the dead 
and dying lay thick on the ground; and he had never 
been weak or faint hearted before; but when his dear 
Rosa had proposed to give up all her play things, and 
for his benefit, he could stand it no longer — he broke 
down and could only moan piteously. For several min- 
utes he remained silent, as the tears trickled doAvn his 
cheeks; and as he stood there holding his dear children 
by the hands, a mighty struggle was going on in his 
hreast. 

The struggle was, should he go, and leave his family 
— his dear children, — to some town, country, or place, 
Avhere he could mend his fortunes; or should he stay 
with his family and Avorry along as best he could? 

If no one could be found who Avas honest enough to 
be his assignee and conduct his business in an honest 
and equitable manner, then the sheriff and creditors 
could proceed. Of one thing he determined, that was 
he would never again engage in the mercantile business. 
For a more definite decision, he deferred until the mor- 
row. So embracing his dear children and commending 
them to God, he led them to the doors of their sleeping 
apartments and once more sought his own bed. 


78 


MAERIED THE AVRONG MAN. 


’Squire Bloss and Lawyer Smart held a council after 
Mr. Morehead had dismissed them at his door. Their 
talk ran in this wise: 

“I tell you, squire,” says Lawyer Smart, ‘‘John need 
not hold his head up so high. He is broke and he pre- 
tends to be honest with it.” 

“Well, you see,” says ’Squire Bloss, “we have got him 
in our clutches, anyway. The notes will be put in my 
hands for collection and I can have a double purchase 
on him. His creditors will not expect much and John 
Avill come to it and smuggle. He’ll come to it, Mr. 
Smart — you mark my words.” 

“Well, I am with you, ’squire. He can’t hold his 
head so high and be a dead broke man. Such fellows 
generally come down a notch or two. We will come at 
him again,” 

“I’ll tell you what we might do,” says ’Squire Bloss. 
“We can — ” 

Here the conversation was broken off l>y the appear- 
ance of Tim. 

On the morrow John Morehead was up very early and 
as he began to revolve in his mind what was best to do, 
there came a rap at the door. He answered to the rap, 
and Avho should make his appearance but J. Gobher, the 
Jew money lender, John bade him come in and be 
seated. 

“Vel, Meester Morehead, I hear you haf been in 
drouble a ledle. How ish dot mit you? You vant some 
monish to help you true mit der hard blace, eh?” ob- 
seryed the Jew, as he seated himself in a chair. 

“Well, Mr. Gobher, it is no use denying the fact. 1 
am in a hard place and in all probability will lose all I 
Imve unless some miracle interferes to save me.” 

‘ Yv] ^'’c'T I loan you dose monish. A"ou gif me goot 
security. Vot interest you bay me for dat monish?” 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


79 


‘‘Why, Mr. Gobher, I thank you kindly for your 
proffered aid. I am thinking that I shall go to some 
place better than this to mend my shattered fortune. I 
can’t pay any big interest, Mr. Gobher, but suppose I 
can pay the lawful interest.” 

“I lifs by my monish und you bay me dot interest I 
loan you der monish. You go on mit der pizness und 
you make dem all back again.” 

“Well how much will you charge me.” says John, 
“for say one thousand dollars for one year?” 

“Not more as dree per cent a mond und you bay der 
interest in adwance. Und den you gif me mortgage for 
de brinciple, und den you makes monish on der pizness.” 

Again John Morehead faltered and wavered for a few 
minutes — whether he should take the Jew’s money or 
not; but it was only for a few minutes, and rousing up, 
he firmly, but politely, informed Mr. Gobher that he 
could not accept his offer. 

“But,” interposed Mr. Gobher, “I haf der monish und 
I lend him to you, Meester Morehead. I dake der in- 
terest und nefer mind der brinciple. You go mit me to 
Mexico und I youst digs him oup from der grount mit 
— vat you dinks of dat speculation, eh?” 

A new idea broke into John’s brain, at the mention 
of going to Mexico. Mr. Gobher told him in a former 
chapter that he had money buried there in the outskirts 
of the town of Monterey, and now he thought he saw a 
chance offered to get some money by going after it. 
His mind was made up at once. He proposed to Mr. 
Gobher that he would accompany him to the place 
where his treasure was buried and assist in digging it 
up. Accordingly a bargain was struck and all the pre- 
liminaries were mapped out and a day fixed on to start 
on their journey. 

As Mr. Gobher left the house, John proceeded to the 


80 


MARRIED THE AVRONG MAN. 


Postoffice and found a letter from Florence. Hastily 
breaking it open, he glanced over its contents. It was 
the same old story: “Send me some money and be sure 
and send enough — I have got t(> have plenty,” the letter 
read. 

After perusing it carefully, John quietly folded it and 
placing it in his pocket, he thus mused to himself: 

“Yes, Florence wants money. She certainly knows 
my straightened circumstances. Well I will send her 
what I can. I will tlien pack my valise and place my 
children under the care of aunty and Tim, and at once 
be off for Mexico with Mr. Gobher. I will brave any 
danger for my dear children and as for Florence, Avhen 
she returns, she Avill be cared for. If she was here now 
she perhaps would object to my going with that Dutch- 
man and money lender; but I am fully armed and have 
made up my mind that Florence has married the wrong 
man, or I have married the wrong woman.” 

On the morrow John Morehead and Mr. J. Gobher 
started on their journey to Mexico and in due time ar- 
rived at Monterey, their place of destination. It is 
hoAvever proper to state that before starting John, as 
nsual, held a council with aunty. 

“It does seem to me,” says aunty, “that thee is near- 
ing the third and last yellow ball I saw in my dream. 
Thee got apast the first and second, or nearly so, Now 
this one is the last, and may the good Lord help thee 
John. I will pray for thee, that thou shalt overcome all 
difficulties and it is one of our tenets, that is, to make 
money if thee can, John.” 

“Well, aunty, to your care I commit my dear children 
until Florence comes. In fact, I know they are better 
cared for by you, dear aunty, than if some one else had 
them. I do not want to bid them good bye. It will 
only give me fresh pain, as well as them. I am going 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


81 


on a dangerous trip. Yes, aunty, I go down among the 
Greasers, Mexicans, who are treacherous, and them 
brigands are ever ready to pounce on anyone whom they 
suspect of having money. But, aunty, I shall have 
nothing to fear in that direction as I am not burdened 
with money. I know I go with your blessing for my 
success, and if Gobher, the Jew, tells the truth, I shall 
be able to come back with a good sum of money.” 

We follow now our two friends, John Morehead and 
Gobher, to the city of Monterey, in Mexico, where we 
find them quartered in a heicinda, or farm house, just 
outside the walls that surround it. 

This Avas thought best by Mr. Gobher, as they Avould 
be more free to come and go without molestation, as 
there were police in the city Avho made it a business to 
look after all strangers who could not be identified at 
once. And it was the main part of their business to 
keep their intentions to themselves. But as Gobher 
spoke Spanish very well, he could always throAV off sus- 
picion as to their real business. 

What the two men had agreed on Avas to, as secretly 
as possible, search for the buried treasure that Gobher 
had deposited, well knowing that if the Greasers found 
out their real business it became more dangerous for 
them to prosecute their search for the hidden treasure. 

CHAPTER X. 

The reader will bear in mind that after the war closed 
and the business of the country became more settled. 
Quag left the home of John Morehead and started south 
in search of, as she termed it, ‘-de ole man.” Slavery 
having been abolished, she could travel Avithout fear of 
being molested, as was not the case in former years. 
However, it was several years before the darkies could 


82 MAERTED THE AVRONG MAN. 

get at tlie full import of the meaning of “a freeman.” 
Some of the old trustworthy ones who were in the con- 
fidence of their masters Avere loth to acknoAvledge the 
new order of things. 

But Quag being a good cook and Avell versed in the 
domestic duties generally, could readily obtain employ- 
ment anywhere. Her first thought on leaving the More- 
heads was to get employment on a south bound steamer 
on the Mississippi River. She, however, found this a 
little difficult, as steamboat men Avere a little shy about 
engaging persons of no recommendation. Quag, Iioav- 
ever, managed to enlist tlie sympathies of an old steaih- 
boat man by the name of Ilenderson — he was always 
known by the name of “Bill” Ilenderson — avIio pro- 
cured her a berth as chambermaid on a Southern steam- 
er. This Avas AAffiat Quag had long wished for, and slie 
could hardly realize that she Avas a free Avoman and 
earning wages; and her joy had no bounds when she 
found that the steamer Avould continue doAvn the river 
as far as Memphis, Tenn., AAdiere it Avould lay by for 
several days in order to take on an up-river cargo. 

She clung to tlie hojie that she would be enabled to 
find her old man down there, as the war Avas over and 
he would be apt to seek employment in some of those 
large river towns. 

After the steamer had received her cargo for the re- 
turn trip, Quag had been urged to go .back with the 
crew. However, she had only engaged for the trip to 
Memphis; and as the time drew nigh for the steamer’s 
departure, her old friend Henderson importuned her to 
make the return trip. He found her sitting on the high 
bank, gazing off doAvn the river Avdth a vacant stare. 

“No tank you, Massa Henderson,” she said, in reply 
to his earnest request. “I know you is a good man, but 
massa, I jes can’t go back norf; my heart says no. It 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 83 

jes seems I want to see my old man — dat I miis see him, 
or dis poor ole heart will break. Dat is certain, Massa 
Henderson. De Lawd bress you, massa; I nose yese is 
a good man. But if I doan get to see my ole man, I no 
I’ll jes die. Done you like your ole woman, massa? If 
yese is a good man, I nose ye do. Den, Massa blend er- 
son, ye nose dat de wah is now over and done, and me 
and my ole man can lib like white folks. Now, Massa 
Henderson, aint dat so?” 

As Quag spoke these last words, tears came in her 
eyes and the old steamboat man’s stern heart was soft- 
ened; and extending his hand to Quag, he replied: 

“Well, Quag, you are right. Your race has been 
down- trodden for a long time and now there is a chance 
for you to better your condition. Go, Quag, go; and 
may God bless you and help you to find the ‘ole man!”’ 

And as he turned away, a large tear coursed its way 
down his sun-browned cheek. Hastily brushing away 
the watery emblem, he stepped aboard the boat and wa« 
in a few minutes steaming up the rivtr. 

Quag watched the boat — gazing with a vacant stare 
until lost to sight by the sinuosities of the river. Then 
falling on lier knees, she poured forth her soul in prayer 
— that the good Lord would preserve her and enable her 
to find her “ole man.” That prayer was uncouth in 
words, but it came from the heart. 

As she arose, she started away to see if she could get 
some employment on a south bound steamer. She had 
heard of a gang of negroes who had shipped south to 
work on some railroad; and embracing the first oppor- 
tunity, she again shipped on board of a New Orleans 
steamer and in due time arrived in tlie Crescent City. 

Again and again slie made inquiry of anyone and 
everyone who she thought could give her information 
of her “ole man.” But the further south she went the 


84 


MARRIED THE AVROXG MAX. 


more unkind and brutal treatment she received. She 
worked at times to procure food and clothing, and 
would then continue her search. 

Becoming more disheartened every day, she finally 
joined a mule train bound for the Brazos River, hoping 
to get some information in that direction of the where- 
abouts of her husband. The country at that time in the 
south, and more particularly west of the Mississippi 
River, was in a state of anarchy. Bands of lawless ref- 
ugees and brigands held the better class of the inhabi- 
tants in terror most of the time. 

The train that Quag had joined contained not only 
valuable merchandise for the trade, but a considerable 
amount of money. And it proved a very tempting bite 
for marauders, for on the fourth day out the whole train 
was captured and taken over into Mexico, where those 
who could pay their ransom were set at liberty. But 
Quag was retained by the band to do servile work. 

The money and stock of merchandise were divided 
up among the members of the gang. The rendezvous 
was some twenty miles north of the town of Monterey 
in Mexico. 


CHAPTER XI. 

Again the reader is called to a former chapter where 
William Ramble had left the village of Danforth to 
seek his fortune. 

He had heard of good chances in the south, where 
fortunes were made, and his thoughts and desires natur- 
ally turned that way; but his first aim was to get to 
work in some high school and procure a good education. 
This was the first great object and one that must be 
attended to before any other thought could be enter- 
tained. 

Procuring employment as a newsboy on a popular 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


85 


railroad running south, he gradually worked his way to 
St. Louis. In that large city he was for a time at a loss 
to know which way to direct his steps. He was, in fact, 
about to be taken up as a vagrant by the police, when a 
very kind and benevolent old gentleman took him in 
charge and learning the boy’s desires, took him home 
with him to Mt. Vernon, 111., where he procured a berth 
for him to do chores for his schooling. 

Will Ramble never would give his benefactor any ac- 
count of his nativity or parentage and when pressed 
closely to tell, would evade the answer by saying that 
his relations lived away up north. 

In the course of six months he had made such rapid 
advances in his studies that he won the admiration of 
most of the inmates of the school. However, he be- 
came so eager to get at some employment in order to 
earn money that in about a year after entering the 
school, he bid good bye to his old benefactor and once 
more started out in the world to make his fortune. 

Traveling south in the hojies of finding a situation, he 
reached the city of Memphis, Tenn. Here his funds 
gave out and he was left to do the best he could. 
Finally he secured a position in a lai ge wholesale estab- 
lishment as a bill clerk. Entering upon his duties with 
a hearty good will, he used his best endeavors to get 
the good will of his employers. 

He had not been in this position long, when one day 
an up-river steamer landed at the wharf and commenced 
to discharge her cargo. William was sent down to the 
landing to look after some freight, when to his great 
surprise he saw Tim on board as a deckhand. Recog- 
nizing him at once, he went up to Tim and shaking his 
hand, asked after the folks at Danforth. 

After Tim got over his surprise, he let off an extra 
load of the real, genuine Irish. 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


8G 


“Well, well, me by, may the Saints take care of yeze. 
But how in the name of St. Patrick did yeze git here? 
Who in the name of Moses wad have thought of the 
likes of yeze bein’ away down here among the Ku-Klux? 
Why, me by, them fellers will take your life in a twink. 
ling of a mouse’s eye. W ell, be the Houly Mither, O 
Moses, whode iver thought of sein a Ramble down here, 
anyhow?” 

William was perhaps more astonished than Tim, for 
he supposed that he never would see anyone from his 
native town so far away from home. 

“Well. Tim,” replies he, after getting over his sur- 
prise, “I left home and friends to seek or make my for- 
tune.” 

He then proceeded to give him in as few words as 
possible his experience since leaving home. 

But he was more surprised on learning Tim’s business 
down south, which is given here in his own language: 

“I’l tell yeze, me by,” Tim commenced, “Do yeze 
know that John Morehead has gone to Mexico or the 
divil’s own land, I’m thinking, as the soger bys call it? 
And he left me to look after things at home, sayen as 
how he’d be back wid a pile o’ shiners and tuck wid him 
the Jew money-lender, and begorra he is the man as I 
don’t like. So you see Tim Morarity is not the one to 
see as foine a man as John Morehead be kilt and 
scalped by them Greaser divils down there, and its me- 
self that’s goin’ to hunt him up and see as no harm 
comes to him. Bad luck to thini murdthern thaves who 
wad cut a man’s throat as soon as to eat a sandwitch.” 

“Did you leave Moreheads to hunt up John,” ob- 
served William, as Tim stopped for want of breath. 
“O my, but if you are going all the way to Mexico you 
have a long journey before you.” 

“Niver inoiiid that,” says Tim. “Do you suppose I 


:\tAIlllIED THE WKONG MAN. Sl 

could stbay at home and not know what had become of 
John? No, divil the bit. I leave this boat here and 
take the next one south.” 

And Tim was true to his woad, for the first Orleans 
steamer he found at the wharf he shipped as a deck 
hand, bound to hunt up the man he loved so well. In 
due time he landed at New Orleans, where after getting 
what information he could respecting the route to old 
Monterey, in Mexico, lie set about contriving some way 
whereby he could make the trip. 

He finally concluded to take a vessel bound for 
Brownsville and go that way. His main hope was to 
get out to Monterey by some private conveyance. Ac- 
cordingly, he shipped on board a trading vessel loaded 
with merchandise, bound for Brownsville and beyond. 
Tim being a fresh water sailor, did not take very readi- 
ly to the salt sea, for he was dubbed a fresh water lob- 
ster by the old salts; and had it not been for his deter- 
mined will he would have succumbed to the fearful sea 
sickness prevailing on all gulf sailing vessels. But Tim 
stuck to his crackers and cheese, and in due time arrived 
at his destination. 

The next move was to get to Monterey, if possible. 
Learning that a mule train was making for the interior, 
Tim lost no time in finding out the destination of it; 
but what was his disappointment when he learned that 
it was going in a contrary direction from the one he 
wished to go. But nothing daunted, Tim persevered in 
his inquiry and was finally rewarded by securing a pas- 
sage with some native muleteers going out in the inter- 
ior for mineral. 

It was pretty hard work for Tim to understand the 
Greasers at first, but he soon made his wants known and 
had but little trouble on the route. 

For several days the traveling on the route was some- 


88 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


what monotonous, but when they began to enter the 
mountains, the Mexicans in charge of the train were con- 
tinually on the alert and seemed to be in dread of some 
misfortune by robbers or banditti, 

Tim enjoyed the fear of the muleteers very much and 
declared that he ‘‘wud jist like to ile up his jints a little 
in a bit of a row or of a real Irish wake as he would call 
it.” Tim’s curiosity was gratified, for on the third day 
after entering the mountains a band of guerrillas 
pounced down on the train and demanded an immediate 
surrender. Tim, after his first surprise, showed fight 
and urged the muleteers not to give in to the ‘^murd- 
thern thaves.” 

Pop! pop! went the pistols of the brigands, one ball 
just grazing Tim’s cheek. ‘‘Och, be the powers above 
ns, its fight yeze are afther’ ye divils; and its Tim Mo- 
rarity as will give yeze the best out of five. Come on 
you Greaser divils.” And Tim being well armed, made 
such a good use of his weapons that the band of outlaws 
were completely taken aback. However, seeing only 
one who offered fight, they closed in on the muleteers 
and overpowered them. 

But Tim they did not get. He was not to be taken, 
but bounding away among the chaparal, he succeeded 
in hiding himself completely from the robbers. He lay 
perfectly still until near night, knowing that the robbers 
would be looking for him; but a new danger arose. 
Tim began to feel the demand of appetite, and what to 
do he did not know. Among the mountains in a strange 
land, he had no means of knowing how to continue his 
journey; but Tim had a brave heart within his breast, 
and he determined to sell his life as dear as possible. 

Advancing carefully to the road, he cautiously peered 
first in one direction and then in the other, and finding 
no one in sight Tim concluded to follow the road, as he 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


89 


supposed that they were going in the morning. 

However, he became very hungry and determined to 
get some food at all hazards. There were heicindas 
along the mountain roads at long intervals and Tim de- 
termined to seek one of these if possible. But darkness 
coming on so bad, he could only grope his way as best 
he could. It was getting late in the night and he was 
getting well nigh exhausted. At length he sat down on 
a small lump of something beside the road, it being so 
dark he could not tell what it was. He commenced to 
upbraid himself in this wise: 

‘‘O why did I come away down here among these 
hathens — bad luck to thim — to be wanderthren about 
loike a crazy mon in the wild mountains of this, Satan’s 
own land? It’s near stharved I am. O Tim Morarity, 
its bether ye niver left the Green Isle, than be poken 
about here in the dark loike a hungry fox chased by the 
hounds! But it is better this way than be taken by 
thim ugly looken, thaven guerrillas. Bad luck to thim; 
they belong to ould Nick himself. But it’s for John 
Morehead that I’m here, and bedad but Tim ’ll make 
the best of it.” 

While he was sitting there, he thought he saw a light 
off in the woods somewhere near the course he supposed 
he was traveling. Tim strained his organs of vision in 
the direction for some time and was rewarded for his 
vigilance by observing a bright light about a mile away, 
and his first impulse was to go at once and seek food 
and shelter. But then again, supposing it was a camp 
of guerrillas or brigands? Better not be too fast. 

However, Tim at once set off in the direction of the 
light, but had not proceeded far when to his surprise he 
found that he was out of any road. Still he pressed on, 
but as he did so he concluded to reconnoiter a little and 
see what was in store for him. He had approached to 


00 


MARRIED THE AVRONG MA;N'. 


within a short distance of where he last saw the light 
and then began to reconnoiter. 

He heard the sound of voices, but could not deter- 
mine from whence the sound proceeded, owing to the 
darkness. No house or building of any kind could be 
seen, still he thought he saw the outlines of a low shed 
or building. Becoming more bold, he advanced further 
until he could discern the outlines of a man pacing too 
and fro. close to the building or Avhatever it was. 

Watching intently for a while, all at once a bright 
light hashed out from the shanty and in a moment more 
a negro wench came out with a light in her hand and 
began to address the man on duty; and as 'the light fell 
on her countenance, ‘‘Houly Mither, O Moses!” Tim 
came very near yelling at the top of his voice. Thon 
again he was about to rush up and make himself known 
to Quag, for it was she that Tim recognized, and was 
about to put this resolve into practice. Then taking 
another thought, he stopped and began to consider. A 
thousand thoughts were passing through his brain. 

lie thus kept hesitating, uncertain what to do. What 
if it should be a den of brigands or guerrillas or rob- 
bers? He would not venture up. But then in the 
name of all the saints how did Quag come there? A 
few moments of uncertain hesitancy and he conclud'^d 
to beat a hasty retreat, and turned around to put his de. 
cision into execution at once. But alas for poor Tim, 
the first step he took caused the snapping of a dry pine 
stick, which at once alarmed the sentinel as Avell as a 
large dog. The guard commanded him to halt and at 
the same time the dog began to yelp and bark in a bois- 
terous manner; and tearing loose from his moorings, he 
came with mouth extended wide, showing a murderous 
set of teeth. 

Tim was just ready to bound aAvay, when a treachor- 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


91 


ous vine caught his foot and he tripped and fell head- 
long. Before he could recover, both the sentinel and 
dog were upon him. Tim had taken care to provide 
himself with a stout manceneta club (a species of low 
hard wood that grows in Mexico) and was determined 
to fight it out ‘^wid his shelalah,” as he called his 
weapon. But on seeing others come out of the shanty 
aud the guard bringing his gun up to his shoulder, he 
commanded Noi^ when Tim thought that discretion 
would be the better part of valor and threw down his 
club, and then up went his arms in token of surrender. 

(Biono 'por agy aays the brigand, for it was one of the 
gang which was quartered there. Tim thought he would 
try a little diplomacy on his captor and thus began: 

‘‘Be the powers above us, fwat yeze want of a poor 
Irish- American? I’m a man as got niver a cint in the 
wide worruld; but I’m an honorable member of St. Pat- 
rick’s church, and if yeze is a thrue Catholic ye’l let me 
off. Sure an wasent I in Mexico a fitin fur Santa Anna? 
How can yeze carry a poor mon off who is born on the 
soil of North America free, to be a prisoner and 
stharve?” 

But Tim might have talked to the moon or North 
star as to talk to the brigand, for neither could under- 
stand the other. The guard and his dog marched Tim 
right into the den of the banditti. Tim thought it best 
not to be recognized by Quag and was therefore on the 
alert to give her to understand that she must not know 
him. These thoughts rushed through his brain like a 
whirlwind and when the guard marched him into the 
midst of the band in their den he hid his face. 

Quag was just ready to cry out on beholding him, but 
Tim, quickly divining her motive, put his finger on his 
lip and sternly shook his head, and Quag divining his 
wants, kept still and said nothing, though she afterwards. 


92 


MAKRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


remarked that it was ‘‘so mitey hard to keep from talk- 
in’.” Tim was seated in the midst of the band and his 
money was demanded, and if he had no money then the 
name and residence of his relatives or friends. This 
was demanded by them in order to get a ransom. 

Tim gave the name of John Morehead as his best 
friend and as for his whereabouts he was unable to tell. 
A messenger was at once dispatched by the leader to 
Monterey to post a letter to John Morehead, to inform 
him of his friend being a prisoner and that a price was 
set on him, and if not paid, death would be the doom of 
the prisoner. 

The reader will at once conclude, that this same band 
of outlaws was the one that had captured the train in 
which Quag was traveling. 

CHAPTER XI. 

Again the reader is called to John Morehead and 
Gobher. In a former chapter they were at Monterey 
preparing to search for the hidden treasure. 

After they had been settled in their quarters about 
ten days, during which time they had made the impres- 
sion that they were engaged in buying mustang ponies 
for the northern trade, Morehead became so eager to be 
at the main business of the trip that he could not delay 
any longer. Having procured some small picks and 
crows, on the evening of the tenth day tliey concluded 
to make a trial and see if the hidden treasure was still 
where Gobher had left it. 

After it began to get dusk, the two proceeded to the 
supposed place and commenced to make an excavation. 
The exact spot where Gobher buried his treasure was 
not easily determined; but it was on the south side of 
the Saltillo road as it led out of the gate on the west of 
the city. He had described the place as behind a big 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


93 


bowlder in a clump of cbaparal and had made a hole in 
the gravelly earth about two feet deep and put it in a 
tin box, then enclosed it in a rough box made of mon- 
ceneta wood. 

As they began to prospect for the place, John More- 
head observed that Gobher was on the lookout all the 
time, which caused John to inquire into the cause of his 
being on the alert so much. Gobher explained: 

‘‘You see, Meester Morehead, dese Spanish Greasers 
are some tarm sharp, any dime (vat you call him in 
Anglesh?) teacheres.” 

“Treacherous,” suggested John. 

“Yese, dats vat you call him. Shoot one in de back 
before you see him. Youst what you call him, right — 
dreacherous.” 

“Well, Gobher,” says John, “I don’t think there is 
any danger here now.” 

“You pet your poots, eh. You see dat feller dere be- 
hind dat rock?” 

John turned his head in the direction of Gobher’s 
finger and just caught the glimpse of a man as some per- 
son glided swiftly behind the big bowlder and out of 
sight. 

“Tam hell!” exclaimed Gobher. “Come — no use, we 
must go and come back some dark night. Tam, hell! 
Greasers dey youst rob a fella gwick, I del you.” 

So saying, Gobher took Morehead by the arm and 
the two went back a circuitous route to the lieicinda, 
neither one speaking until safe in their room and the 
doors locked. Morehead was the first to speak. 

“What do you mean, Mr. Gohher^ I could fight a 
whole regiment of such men as these Mexicans. What 
did we leave for before we got down to business? That 
man you saw was only one and we were two and could 


04 


MAKKIED THE WROXG ]MAX. 


have soon finished him, got the money and left before 
he could have raised the alarm.” 

“I dels you no, Mr. Morehead. Dese old stone vails 
haf ears and tink, too, somdimes. No, no, Mr. More- 
head, dot wont do to fight now. Somdimes maybe it 
vill do to fite a ledle. You see, Mr. Morehead, dese tarn 
Greasers are von hell men. Da youst slip ride oup 
behint de pack and stuck one long sharp knife into a 
fella. Den ven you dinks you be all alone, dere be two, 
dree, maybe haf dotzen, vas ben vatchen every step you 
dakes. I know dem Greasers-Mexicans so better as you, 
Meester Morehead. Den you see dem brigand fellas haf 
some one to vatch all de dime for some who haf monies. 
Now I youst del you, ve must vait und go some dark 
nite ven ve can’t be seen.” 

John Morehead was disposed to be more expeditious 
and at once put their intentions into practice. But 
knowing that Gobher had been among the Mexicans for 
several years, he finally concluded that it would be best 
to be guided by his advice, for the present at least. In 
the meantime they could be employed at other things 
that would throw off suspicion and give them ample 
time to perfect their plans. 

After waiting about ten days, and it being the dark of 
the moon, a night was agreed on to go and make another 
trial to see if the money could be found. Procuring a 
dark lantern, they set off, after all appeared to be still 
and quiet. Arriying at the place they, by Gobher’s di- 
rections, commenced to dig in the spot where the treas- 
ure was supposed to be. 

Eagerness lent strength to John Morehead’s arms and 
he soon had a large place excavated. “In a box,” Gob- 
her would say, “you find von bo:jt den you find him.” 
As John was striking down with his pick, he struck a 
hard substance, which caused him to call Gobher’s at- 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


95 


teiition to it. What could it be? Certainly the long 
wished for box that contained the money. John worked 
with redoubled energy and the dirt and gravel were 
heaved out with a vim. 

, ‘‘There it is,” says John; “see that lump?” 

“Yes,” says Gobher, “youst let me in dat hole. I 
fetch him oud qwick, I del you.” 

And suiting the action to the word, he had the object 
in his arms and out on the bank in a jiffy; and laying it 
down on the ground, he was about to pry it open with 
his crow, when John proposed to take it to the heicinda 
and examine the contents there; and taking up the box, 
started off in the direction of their quarters, when all at 
once a light flashed in their faces and on looking up, 
they saw to their amazement a half dozon bandittis with 
pistols drawn and cocked, pointing right at them. 

“Tam, hell, tarn Greasers! You be von gorrilla 
band,” Gobher blurted out* But his talk was suddenly 
cut short, for the quick, short command from the leader 
meant business, and Not rung out, and the only safety 
lay in an unconditional surrender of them both and box 
and (Biono 'por agy, came the command again, and the 
two were marched oft* in double quick time. 

The band was mounted on mustangs, and John and 
Gobher were mounted on a large one, their legs made 
fast underneath and their hands securely tied down to 
their sides, and a man in the lead with a halter and one 
behind with a gun. They traveled all night and about 
4 o’clock a. m. reached the rendezvous of the band, 
which was none other than the one which had captured 
Quag and Tim, and which was now in possession of 
Morehehead and Gobher. 

CHAPTER XII. 

Florence returned home some three weeks after John 


96 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


Morehead had gone south. While she visited with her 
friends, she attended several women’s rights meetings 
and her mind was pretty well filled up with the isms of 
the day. In fact, she had become a convert to the 
Susan B. Anthony doctrine. 

The first thing on arriving home was to acquaint Mrs. 
Dedcom of her conversion. 

‘'Yes, Mrs. Dedcom,” she observed to that lady, “I’m 
a tetotal, out and out women’s right disciple. I’ll show 
John Morehead that women are not to be trampled 
under foot any longer. I’m going to be my own man 
after this and Mrs. Dedcom you are right, we women 
are not to be tied down to one man all the time. I’ll 
inform John Morehead of that just as soon as he gets 
home. Who knows, I may have married the wrong 
man.” 

“Yes indeed,” chimed in Mrs. Dedcom, “man and 
woman, too. That sounds musical, and we will put a 
woman in the Presidential chair next election time; and 
a w^oman shall be sent to England as chief minister, 
with power extraordinary, to make treaties and reside at 
the Court of St. James. Yes,” Mrs. Dedcom continued, 
“that is what we will have. The Court is what I like — 
to live in grand style and be courted by lords and 
dukes; and we will be equal to Queen Victoria herself,” 

The m’eeting was at the Morehead homestead and to 
have questioned the truth of their assertions would have 
been met with utter contempt by the two female minis- 
ters, wdiile enjoying their talk on woman’s rights. 
Florence continued: 

“Talk about the American eagle being a fit emblem 
of liberty! That may all be well enough, provided it is 
a female bird and not of the masculine gender. It 
should be an emblem of female liberty.” 

Rosa was an unwilling listener to the talk between her 


MARRIED THE WR0:N^G MAX. 


97 


mother and Mrs. Dedcom. She was too young to enter 
into the full purport of the conversation and meaning 
of the ideas advanced, hut she understood enough to get 
an idea of the subject matter. After Mrs. Dedcom had 
left the house, Rosa thus addressed herself to her 
mother: 

‘‘Mama, what is the reason you want to be a man? 
Are you not satisfied to be a good mother and live with 
papa, and me, and Erney? Why do you want to go 
away off and leave me and Erney here all alone? Aint 
we good children? I spec we are naughty sometimes — 
Erney is when he breaks his playthings. But then I 
tells him that he must not say bad words and be patient, 
cause you know I allers helps to fix his sled and kite and 
rocking horse; and he allers says I am the only one who 
cares for him and tries to be a lietter boy — then he is a 
real good boy. Now mama, aint we good?” 

Florence felt the^full force of Rosa’s remarks and she 
became very thoughtful and serious for a little while. 
She drew Rosa closer to her and kissed her affectionate- 
ly on her cheeks. But her mind had been so engrossed 
with ideas of women’s rights that there was not much 
room for anything else. 

Just as Mrs. Dedcom left Florence, the grocer’s ex- 
press wagon stopped at tlie gate. The driver jumping 
out, 2)olitely presented a bill for ^^ayment to Florence. 
The bill, he said, had been standing for some time and 
he was directed to collect the bill if possible, and if not 
paid, to leave it with the magistrate to be sued on. 
Florence had pride about her and desired that the bill 
should be paid; but she was out of funds, — in fact, had 
nothing to buy the actual necessaries of life with. 
Finally she became im2)atient and cross and told the 
man that she was not paying Mr. Morehead’s debts. 


08 


MAKRTED THE -WRONG MAN. 


CTIAPTER XIIT. 

When the hri gauds liad seen their prisonevs made 
secure in their apartments, for there were many and 
mostly under the ground, they all prepared for rest and 
sleep. 

John Morehead and Gohher were put in separate 
rooms and given to understand that an attempt to escape 
would be punished witli death. As the prisoners were 
exhausted by the long night’s ride, they, too, were soon 
in deep slumber, forgetting for the time the danger 
through which they had passed. 

It was near night when John IMorehead awoke from 
his sleep. After realizing the situation which he was in, 
he began to reconnoiter the place. It appeared to be an 
underground apartment with no light, save a large lamp 
that hung in the center of the room and some daylight 
th'Bt straggled through a grating at one end of the room. 
There were some matting and couches placed around 
the sides of the room that appeared to be used for beds, 
and a few stools and benches completed the furniture. 

About the first thing an American tliinks of when put 
in prison is how to escape and tliat thought was upper- 
most in John’s mind when he began to fully realize his 
situation. However, there were certain misgivings in 
his mind about Mr. Gobher. Somehow it seemed to 
his mind that there was treachery somewhere. How 
did it happen that tliey were seized and carried off by 
the banditti just at a certain time? It so happened that 
they were not molested only when they were searching 
for tlie hidden treasure, lie further noticed that occa- 
sionally a conversation was carried on between the 
leader of the gang and Gobher, on their journey to the 
den; but as it was in Spanish, he could not determine 
the nature of the conversation. Another thing, they 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


99 


were kept se2:>arate by the band. Could it be that Gob- 
her was a decoy to hel}^ the brigands? 

As these thoughts were 2)assing through Morehead’s 
brain, he heard a noise outside. One voice was a negro’s 
and seemed familiar to him. The other was that of the 
chief of the clan. The next minute the door of the 
room was oj^ened and a tall, dark female figure entered, 
bearing something in her hand. Morehead could not 
see, because of the darkness, who or what the person 
was, but evidently she had something in her hands for 
the 2>risoner to eat. 

Just as she turned to set the dish down, the light fell 
on her face and John Morehead recognized Quag, and 
with one loud hello, exclaimed, “Quag!” She at once 
knew the voice and staggering to a seat, exclaimed: 
‘‘Massa John Morehead, de Lawd bress you! Massa 
John, dey got you heah, O my! — ” She did m t finish 
her sentence, for the chief had advanced. 

After closing the door and placing himself between 
Morehead and Quag, demanded in the best English he 
could use: “You havs some frentz what pay for your 
ransom.” At the same time he motioned to Quag to 
keep silent. 

John Morehead had surmised what was coming and at 
once concluded to put on a bold front and defy the chief. 
He knew no fear. He had been in too many dangerous 
places to blanch now and he gave the chief to under- 
stand that he could get no ransom money out of him. 

As the chief motioned to Quag to begone out of the 
room, he turned to John and drawing a stiletto from his 
bosom, made signs to him that if in three days no ar- 
rangements were made for his ransom, his life would 
])2ij the forfeit. So saying, he strode out of the room 
and securely locked the door. 

John Morehead, when left alone, ate a small portion 


100 INrAKKlED THE WEONG MAX. 

of the food left by Quag, ])ut Ids thoughts ran in this 
wise: 

“Well, well, ]\rr. Brigand Chief, that is the case, is it, 
and I have to pay a ransom for myself before I can get 
out of this, eh? Well that is pretty hard to do when a 
fellow has no money. Well, Mr. Chief,” he continued) 
I will see if I stay here. I have been in a good many 
tight places and have come out all right. But what in 
the world brought Quag here? She must be a prisoner, 
and how many more of my townsmen, I wonder, are 
here with these guerrilla devils?” 

So saying, John Morehead began to examine more 
particularly the room he was confined in. Having been 
considerably refreshed by the meal that Quag left, it 
gave him strength. First he w-ent to the door and be- 
gan to examine it, then to a window, but no means of 
escape offered in that direction. He tried all the sides 
of the walls — they appeared to be solid granite. If he 
could only get an interview with Quag, he perhaps 
migght find out something to his advantage. 

Then his thoughts turned to Gobher again and what 
had become of him, and was he a true man or a traitor* 
One thing was serious and that was, the guerrilla band 
would carry out its threats. 

% 

CHAPTER XIV. 

It will be remembered that when Tim was captured 
and taken to the den, that he gavo the name of John 
Morehead as his best friend, who would pay or cause to 
be paid a ransom for him; and that a messenger w^as de- 
spatched to the city .to post a letter to Morehead, im 
forming him of his friends wdiereabouts and that a cer- 
tain sum was demanded for his release. 

As lias been stated in a former chapter, the banditti 
of the mountainous districts of Mexico alw^ays had their 


MARRIED THE WROJfG MAX. 


101 


friends and allies in the towns and cities to aid and 
assist them in their nefarious business, and sometimes 
inliuential men and rich merchants were connected with 
these bands and gave information of anyone suspected 
of having rich relatives or friends who would pay a 
good round price for their ransom. 

Now as this messenger whom the band employed was 
a discreet fellow, and one trained in the busines, on 
reaching the city he naturally sought his chums and to 
them would tell his business; and by these persons he 
accidentally learned of John Moreheud and Mr, Gob- 
her’s presence in Monterey, and at once began to lay 
plans for their capture and for the present did not post 
the letter as directed by the banditti. And on his i;e- 
turn to the den, he made known his discoveries to the 
chief, who immediately opened negotiations with their 
colleagues in the city for the capture of the two men. 

And now comes the secret of the cause of the banditti 
being on hand the night when John and Gobher wore 
prospecting for the hidden treasure: Gobher was an 
accomplice or stool pigeon and gave the information 
when it became necessary to get anyone into the den to 
be held for ransom. 

The story told by Gobher to Morehead of his former 
capture by the banditti was all a sham and as for tho 
box containing the money, that was a sham also. It 
was used only as a means of decoy — and Gobher was in 
league with the band. 

Thus matters stood when Mr. Morehead and Gobher 
were taken to the den, and a light but dimly at first, but 
more clear as time advanced, began to break in on his 
mind that treachery had been practiced on him by the 
wiley banditti, all brought about by the wiley, cnnning 
money lender and confederate — Mr. Gobher. 

If he could only lay hands on that traitor he would 


102 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


make it interesting for him in a very few minutes 
Although John Morehead was a man i^eacefidly dis. 
posed, he never could endure treachery. 

But to return to John Morehoad in the den. He had 
become satisfied that the place he was in was well 
guarded and to make his escape therefrom would be 
attended with great difficulty and danger. However, to 
stay there and wait for a ransom was very uncertain. 
Although one chance in a thousand would be his, he re- 
solved to take that one. 

He could very well determine that it was night, and 
if not disturbed by any of the band coming in, he could 
deyise means of escape. The banditti had takeni his 
only weapon, a revolver, from him when captured. He 
had a large clasp knife that they did not get. This he 
examined and concluded to use it in case of necessity. 

For an hour he reconnoitered about the den, but noth- 
ing was found or seen with which to assist him in es- 
caping. At length becoming wearied, he sat down and 
began to study the situation. After mature refiection, 
lie concluded to not make any further attempt that 
night, but to await developments in the morning. He 
knew that three days would elapse before any change 
would be made either in the imprisonment or offer of 
ransom. So finding himself somewhat exhausted he 
lay down on a couch and was soon lost in slumber. 

In the morning he was awakened by a noise at the 
door of his room and starting up from his couch, he 
listened intently for a few minutes, when the noise was 
repeated. Seme one wished to enter for a parley with 
him, was about all he could make out. Finally the 
noise ceased — all was still again. 

John Morehead now began to examine more closely 
than he had before, the room in which he was confined. 
He had determined that he would get out, let the conse- 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


103 


quence be as it would. Not only would he make liis 
escape, but lie would determine wao was conhned there 
beside himself. 

So saying, he began to examine more closely around 
the room. In a corner he found a kind of framework 
to be used as a bedstead and seat. By the dim light he 
discovered that it was made of (Bois (be Arc or osage tim- 
ber. This he wrenched apart and selecting a piece 
some three feet long and an inch and a half in diameter, 
he proceeded on his examination. Ilis club was a most 
welcome weapon, lb being almost as hard as iron. It 
would not only serve as a means of escape, but also as 
an offensive weapon. 

At one end of the room, where the door was located, 
he had discovered a small grated window. This he ap- 
proached and began to examine closely. It was getting 
quite light outside and by twisting his club through the 
bars, he discovered that they would give some. So lay- 
ing out all his strength and using the stick as a lever, he 
managed to wrench one of the bars out of its socket. 
Then another and another until he had removed four of 
them. He concluded that the opening was large enough 
to get through and at once began to make his egress. 

Just as he had passed the grating and gained a foot- 
hold on the outside, he heard a shout. That voice he 
knew to be Tim Morarity’s. As the room he was con- 
fined in was mostly underground, he had to mount a few 
steps cut in the earth in order to gain the surface; and 
on reaching the level ground, he was confronted by 
three of the band, who at once presented their pistols 
and demanded of him to surrender. 

It was a desperate place to be in, the odds being so 
much against him. But he knew it was death to sur- 
render and perhaps death to fight, so he choose the lat- 
ter. In an instant, gathering all his strength, with one 


104 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


fell SM^eep with his maiiceiieta club, he felled two of the 
brigands to the earth and was aiming a blow at the 
third, when an unseen blow from behind felled him to 
tlie ground. But it was only a moment until lie was on 
his feet again, and then that shout again and Tim was 
on the ground. 

‘Tlould your ground, Mr. Morehead. It’s Tim that’s 
here, arrah! But I’ll smash the villians. At ’em again; 
now give that ugly looking fella a lick wid de shelalah. 
Whack it to ’em again.” . 

So saying, Tim dealt his blows right and left, thick 
and fast. 

“Why Tim, what in the world brought you here?” 
exclaimed John Morehead. 

“Niver nioiiid,” says Tim. “See the divils bey ant. 
No time now to tell stories, but let us get out o’ this 
nest of thaves. Come, let us run for the city. Pooy 
Quag,/ he continued. “See there. Two of the black 
imps are guarding her. Quag, run for your life,” 
shouted Tim. 

So taking John by the arm, the two started on a run 
for the road leading to the city. 

There were pistol shots fired after them by the brig- 
ands, but they were soon out of range. 

The night in question, Tim had decided to make 
liis escape, and had succeeded in gaining his liberty, but 
was beset by a half dozen or more of the brigands after 
he had got outside the enclosure, and it was his shofit 
that Morehead had heard when he, too, was getting out 
of the den, and thus the two were close to one another 
without the knowledge of either. But now they were 
out and on the road to the city, where they could claim 
the protection of the authorities, providing they were 
not all banditti. 

After getting into the main road, Tim began to 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


105 


explain to John how he was captured and liow he had 
determined to make his escape at all hazzards at that 
time. 

They had not proceeded far before they heard a loud 
cry for help from the chaparal. 

“Help! for de Lawd’s sake, help, Massa Morehead, da 
is gwine to murder dis poor old nigger wench.” 

The shouts and screams were recognized by John and 
Tim as being those of Quag. 

She had also made a desperate attempt to gain her 
freedom, but was overtaken, and desperate attempts were 
made by two of the banditti to take her back to the den. 
But John and Tim with their revolver and shelalah 
made such an onslaught on the ruffians that they beat a 
hasty ^'etreat, and Quag was rescued and taken to the 
city. 

Once inside the walls of Monterey, they felt compar- 
atively safe. The next thing was to get away from the 
pestiferous place, where it seemed that the principal 
trait of the inhabitants was treachery. 

But now a question arose. They were out of money? 
and to get back to God’s country required the one thing 
— cash. 

There were some Americans in Monterey, engaged in 
commercial pursuits, and to these they made application 
for a loan. At first their request was treated indfferent- 
ly, but by giving good reference and a promise of a good 
bonus they at length succeeded in getting the required 
amount to defray their expenses, and also a passport to 
take them through the lines. However, Morehead had 
learned by this time to keep silent and say but little to 
anyone, and that little only such as was necessary to 
make his wants known. 

Tim and Quag several times began to relate their ex- 
perience, but were stopped by Morehead, who observed 


106 MARRIED THE AVRONG MAN. 

to them that silence in every particular was absolutely 
necessary until they could get out of the treacherous 
country. 

They did not get sight of Gobher, the German, any 
more, as that money lender and traitor would have im- 
periled his life had he come within reach of either Tim 
or John. 

They made hasty preparations to get on their jour- 
ney, and on the third day after their escape from the 
brigands they found themselves well on their way to 
Brownsville, where they would repack and start for 
New Orleans. 

On thoir journey, and after they had got clear of the 
treacherous Mexicans and inside the lines of the United 
States, they began to explain to one another how they 
made their escape. As each one told their sto.iy Tim 
would flourish his shelalah and say: 

‘‘The dirty blackguai ds, and thin to have that spalpeen 
of a JeAV to be wid the loikes of honest men, and he a 
black-hearted traitor. Arrah! bad luck to the likes o’ 
him. Ould Satan will roast him — and moind yez that 
it’s Tim Monarity as sez it — and it’s me belafe is that 
the whole tribe of thim Greasers are small pirates. They 
are a bad lot.” 

“It was me that came down here to hunt yez up, John 
Morehead. I could not belave that yez would go down 
there among them divils, and if yez did then yez wad 
Avant some one to look afhter yez before them heathens 
got your money or scalp.” 

Then Quag commenced. 

“De Lawd be praised, Massa John, you is safe; and 
Avho would liaA'c thought it, that you was away down 
there among the heathens. Why, bress yo, Massa John, 
1 was lookin for my ole man, and was goin till I found 
him, and dem ole Satans tuck dis chile and made me 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


101 


cook and wash for them; and when I wanted to go, dey 
jist got out dere big knives and sed dey would kill dis 
chile.” 

So the party gave in their experience on the road, and 
after a week’s journey arrived safely in New Orleans. 

John and Tim secured passage on an up-river steamer, 
intending to keep on until they reached their once na- 
tive town with as little delay as possible; but Quag de- 
termined to stay in the city and continue the search for 
her ‘‘ole man.” 

The parting words of Quag are here given as near as 
Can be in Quag’s own language: 

“Now, Massa John, I bids yo good-bye; I wants to go 
wid yo, but I jist can’t. I wants to see my ole man 
once more before I dies. De Lawd bress yo. De Lawd 
keep yo free from harm, Massa John. I spec nebber to 
see yo any more — and dat bressed chile, poor Rosa. 
May the good Lawd put his arms around dat chile. 
Massa John, kiss her for me.” 

Tim, although not in love with the negro race, could 
not conceal his emotion, and as he turned away a tear 
glistened on his sun-browned cheek. 

In a few hours the two were steaming up the river 
as fast as possible. 

Nothing much of importance transpired on their trip 
until within a few hundred miles of home. 

John Morehead began to feel that he would land at 
home in a penniless condition and that his debts would 
go unpaid. This thought weighed heavily on his mind? 
and then there was Florence — she must be met and learn 
that his trip was a failure, and that they in all prob- 
ability would be reduced to beggary. 

These thoughts bore so heavily on his mind that Tim 
noticed it and had resolved to engage him in conversa- 
tion and propose some way out of the difficulty. 


108 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


One day, as John Moreliead had appeared more 
gloomy than before, Tim approached him and began: 

“Mr. Moreliead, it’s no use crying over spilled milk; 
it’s a long lane that has no turn, hould up yer head and 
be a man; there is luck ahead for ye.” 

John listened to Tim as he ran on with his words of 
encouragement. He was about to make reply, when a 
shrill whistle or scream louder than a dozen locomotive 
whistles came up from the boiler deck and then a report 
as loud as a twenty-four pounder came up, and the boat 
gave one lurch to the leeward and John and Tim found 
themselves struggling in the water. As they were both 
good swimmers, they were not long in getting hold of 
portions of the wreck and then began to look around 
them. 

One of the boilers had bursted and men and women 
were struggling in the water. 

“To the rescue!” shouted Tim, who true to his native 
generosity was ever on the alert to assist the needy. 

A woman was clinging to a piece of the wreck. John 
seeing the perilous situation she was in, instantly 
plunged in to her rescue, and getting her safe on a piece 
of the wreck, went to help a man who was struggling in 
the water endeavoring to save some one, evidently a 
child. John had got hold of a spar and pushing it in 
the direction of the man and child, succeeded in getting 
them on to it. 

As a part of the boat was not broken up, such of the 
crew as escaped w’ere manning the yawls; and it was not 
long before all those who were in the water were landed 
safely on the shore. 

For a few minutes all was confusion among the res- 
cued and crew, who had exerted their utmost in saving 
the passengers. Each was trying to ascertain the injur- 
es they had sustained by the disaster and also the hurts 


MAKRIED THE WKOXG MAN. 


109 


and bruises of others. John and Tim were very thank- 
ful that they had come out of the disaster all sound. 

As John was looking around among the survivors, he 
was accosted by the man and child whom he had res- 
cued. This man was the captain, and his child was ac- 
companying him on the trip. He grasped John More- 
head by the hand, and the big tears rolled down his 
cheeks as he thanked him over and over, his heart and 
tears speaking more eloquently than words could, for 
the timely assistance rendered by John and Tim. 

After the crew and passengers were all safe ashore, 
and the extent of the disaster became known, the next 
thing to be looked after was to get to their destination. 

Some farm houses near by furnished what was neces- 
sary for their immediate wants. The capsain knowing 
that that there was a boat due up in a short' time so in- 
formed the passengers. So after seeing to the comforts 
of those at the farm houses, he stationed himself on a 
high point of land near the shore, with a flag to signal 
the firsc boat. 

The accident occurred in the fore part of the day, but 
it was just at dusk before the much wished for boat 
hove in sight, and it was a most welcome one to the 
captain and passengers. The boat landed and took on 
all the passengers and crew, who in due time were land- 
ed in St. Louis. 

Once in the city the captain lost no time in 2>i'oviding 
for the transportation of his passengers to their respec- 
tive places of destination. To Mr. Morehead he said: 
‘‘You shall be rewarded for your timely assistance in 
rescuing me and my darling child.” 

He not only jirovided him with transportation home, 
but furnished him with a letter of credit which would 
enable him to draw on him for certain sums in 
^ ase he should need it, Mr, Morehead at first was dis- 


110 


MAREIED THE WRONG MAN. 


posed to not accept the generous offer; but the captain 
would not take no for an answer. 

Mr. Morehead and Tim were soon afloat again, steam- 
ing it up the river with buoyant feelings and light 
hearts, and after a few days were safely landed at the 
wharf of their native village. 

CHAPTER XV. 

After Florence returned from Kansas where her par- 
ents lived, she had become more bold in her avowals 
that women were to be free and emancipated from their 
thraldom. And she found a co-worker in the person of 
Mrs. Dedcom, and a very willing one, also. And when 
the grocer’s man left the house after trying to collect 
the bill, she slammed the door behind him and re- 
marked : 

“That’s the way — bills are coming here to be paid. 
I’m going to have things, and the debts will go unpaid. 
Am I to go without things just to pay Mr. Morehead’s 
bills? Ko; you bet I don’t. Women are to be free, 
yes free, and not tied down to a man. No, I don’t care 
for any Morehead that ever lived, nor any of their kin. 
I’ll let them know that.” 

And Florence worked herself up to a towering pas- 
sion and raved around the room like a mad woman. 

Just as she was making these remarks. Squire Bloss 
came into the room — being admitted by Rosa — and as 
he spoke or was about to sj^eak to Florence, she broke 
out in a loud voice: 

“Yes, you have another bill to present. You come 
here to collect another debt that John Morehead owes, 
do you, eh? Do you think I’m made of money?” 

And thus Florence raved, not noticing who she was 
talking to. 

“My dear madam, I’ve come — ” 


MAREIED THE WKOXG MAN. 


Ill 


‘‘Yes, I know you have come. Every body comes 
here to collect bills — yes, to collect John Morehead’s 
bills.” 

“Why bless me,” says the squire, “I do not want to — ” 

“No, I know you do not want to go away without the 
money.” 

Florence had worked herself up to such a frenzy of 
passion that she did not notice who she was talking to. 
Squire Bloss, with all his blandness, became somewhat 
llustrated and deemed it best to beat a hasty retreat, 
but was met at the door by Rosa, who had been an un- 
willing listener to the ravings of her mother. 

“Why mama,” Rosa said, “be calm. Why do you 
take on so? Sit down. This is Squire Bloss. He has 
some business to transact with you.” 

Florence sank down in a chair and with an effort 
calmed her feelings. 

The squire had, it was true, some bills left with him 
for collection against John Morehead and had come, 
ostensibly, for the purpose of having a talk with Mrs. 
Morehead about the matter. But his diplomacy was all 
knocked out of him when he saw how Florence had used 
her vocal powers. 

But the change was very quick with Floreace when 
she found who she had been talking to, and in a few 
moments she had tuned her voice to another key en- 
tirely. 

“Why, Mr. Bloss, you must excuse. I \vas so-so — 
you know — so wrought up by that grocer man coming 
here to collect bills that I thought every body wanted 
money; and you know, Mr. Bloss, that John is entirely 
broke up. Now, squire, don’t you think that women 
ought to vote and manage things like the men? We 
women have been in slavery long enough. I know you 
will be on our side and see that we have our rights.” 


112 


MARRIED THE AVROXG ^lAX. 


And as she ran on in this strain slie actually tried to 
smile on the squire and beguile him in that way. The 
squire was not proof against women’s smiles and wiles, 
and began to tumble to Florence and to acquiesce in ail 
her propositions. He did not want to cross her at that 
time — he had other views and business to transact, and 
that was to get some clew to Morehead’s elfects, in order 
to collect some debts. But he very prudently did not 
broach the subject to Florence. 

By this time she had got into a very pleasant mood 
and began to ply the squire with questions. 

“Now don’t you think,” she continued, “that women 
ought to have their rights and not be slaves for the men, 
and vote and hold office?” 

“Well,” the squire replied, “I understand that women 
rule the world, anyway. I think women should and do 
have their rights. I think,” continued he, “that the 
women should saw the wood, and plow, and work at 
carpenter work, and — ” 

lie was about to continue when Florence began to 
show signs of fire in her eyes. 

“But permit me,” he continued, “to add, that the men 
should wash the dishes and clothes, and sew on buttons, 
and sweep the rooms, and air the beds, and — and — ” 

He was going to continue, but Florence chimed in and 
took the words out of his mouth and said: 

“Mind the children, and scrub, and — ” 

By this change in the conversation Florence began to 
smile again, when the squire changed his tactics and 
continued: 

“And the men should stay at home and receive their 
beaux on Sunday evenings and keep the big dog away 
from the front gate.” 

“O my, would not that be nice?” said Florence. 

As the squire found that his talk changed her accord- 


MARRIED THE WROXG MAX. 


113 


ing to the manner of his si)eech, he concluded tliat he 
would put in a clincher, and although he was vain and 
conceited among the opposite sex, yet he was not a con- 
vert to the woman’s rights craze. 

“Yes,” he continued, “the women shall have tlieir 
rights — they shall vote, they shall lectioneer, and take 
voters up to the bar and treat them to beer, wdiiskey, 
cigars, etc., and then they shall hold offices, and be mar- 
shals, and soldiers, and fight the battles of their country, 
and win glory and renown. Would that not be fame 
for you, Mrs. Morehead?” 

Florence, who had all tlie while hung on the squire’s 
words, did not exactly know what to make of his re- 
marks, but began to show impatience a little* But the 
squire continued. 

“And be engineers and firemen on our railroads, and 
in order to carry out the program you are to wear the 
breeches and change the order of things generally.” 

Tlie squire began to be terribly in earnest. But Flor- 
ence began to susiiect that he was becoming somewhat 
facetious, and rising to her feet she pointed to the door 
and bade the squire good day. She began to have a 
faint suspicion that he was not so much of a women’s 
rights man after all. 

After the squire left the liouse, Florence let off a few 
shots as much as to say, “Well that is an old woman 
killer and he don’t fool around me with his bills.” 

When John and Tim landed in their native town their 
hearts were sad. Especially w^as this so of John, for a 
few of his intimate friends were cognizant of the nature 
of his trip to Monterey. A first inquiry made by the 
citizens was “Wliere is the money lender, Goblier? Did 
you succeed in getting tlie hidden treasure?” 

Of course there could be but one answer to the ques- 
tion and that was, “Gobher was a fraud and the hidden 


114 


MARRIED THE AVRONG MAX. 


money a myth.” These questions need not to have been 
asked, for the countenance of John Morehead indicated 
as much. 

The meeting between him and Florence was not of 
the most agreeable kind — surely not that wliich sliould 
characterize meetings betAveen husband and Avife after 
an extended separation. IIoAvever, courtesies Avere ex- 
changed between them, and Florejiice seemed resigned 
to their fate, for she knew that they Avould be reduced 
to sheer poverty. True they had their homestead and 
another building in tOAvn; but they Avere both mort- 
gaged, and no visible means of paying the indebtedness 
off. 

The trip to Monterey had cost quite a sum and some 
of the funds were borrowed for that purpose. This hav- 
ing been advanced by John’s friends, had to be returned 
at all hazards. This was the state of John Morehead’s 
affairs after lie had returned and it was not a very envi- 
able position to be in. 

However, he lield up his head as best he could and put 
on a bold front. He was in the prime of life and his 
arm Avas strong, and he braced himself for the battle, 
knowing that pluck and energy were the two requisites 
in the battle of life. 

lie loved his children as a parent can only love a 
child And they Avere getting up in the world and 
needed that care and attention that was so essential for 
their government in after life. Characters were form- 
ing that would go Avitli them to their graves. Rosa was 
especially her father’s favorite and her childish prattle 
always made his heart light. 

John Morehead worked at any thing that turned up. 
He Avas untiring in his efforts to get a paying salary of 
some kind in order to regain his lost fortune. His 
property was re-mortgaged for several times and he was 


MARRIED THE WROXG MAN. 


115 


110 nearer paying them off than when the indebtedness 
was first incurred. 

So matters wore on, and Florence became more and 
more irritable and sour in her temper towards her hus- 
band. Wheneyer opportunity offered she would descant 
on John’s apparent neglect of duty to her and his fam- 
ily, and made an especial point to so air her opinion 
when any visitors or neighbors were present. 

The burden of her song was, she was a slave and had 
to work like a ‘‘nigger.” Wifii two or three helps about 
the house, that complaint seemed to be made without 
any foundation whatever. Still at times she was all 
smiles, and honey w^as in every word, but it ^vas only 
for certain ones that she reserved these for. 

Time passed and at the end of three years John More- 
head found his finances in a bad condition— no chance 
to lift the mortgages on his pro2)erty secured. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Squire Bloss and Lawyer Smart were sitting in the 
office of the former, when the squire observed: 

•‘I tell you, Mr. Smart, John Morehead has got to go 
under financially. He can not hold uj) his head much 
longer. The mortgages on his projierty will be due in 
a short time and it will be sold under the hammer. 
Now^ I propose that we ^vatch the case and be ready to 
share in the spoils as they offer themselves.” 

“Well what do you propose, squire,” says Lawyer 
Smart. “The holders of the mortgages will bid it all 
in and I don’t see much chance for a speculation in that 
direction. Speak more freely, squire.” 

“Well it is this: In the first place the 2)i'^perty is 
worth more by one-third than the mortgages call for. 
Now Florence, John’s wife, is vain, and crazy on the 
woman’s rights doctrine. You go and get into the con- 


110 


MARKIEP THE AYR ON G AIAN. 


Hdciicc of John Morehead; tell him that if lie succeeds 
ill redeeming his property that there Avill be other cred- 
itors come in and put in their claims, and the Avhole of 
it will he lost forever. Say to him the best thinof he can 
do is to put the title, subject to the mortgages, in his 
Avife’s name; that Iia" so doing he can saA^e it.” 

y V cr> 

‘‘Well, but,” says Mr. Smart, “how Avill that help mat- 
ters?” 

“Wait and Vl\ tell you,” says the squire. “As I told 
you before, Florence is A^ain and AAdien she finds that the 
title is in her name, she Avill think that everything and 
everybody is at her command. She Avill demand all 
rents and incomes on the property to be paid to her, and 
control the renting of it. Her husband can stej) doAvn 
and out and go to Guinea as far as she is concerned. 
Do you see?” ' 

“Yes, yes; I see, I see;” says LaAA^yer Smart, rubbing 
his hands Avitli glee, “(to on, squire.” 

“Well you see the income on the property Avill not be 
sufficient to satisfy her A\anity. She Avill Avant some — 
you tell her that you can advance some on her realty. 
You and I liaA^e some money; we go and buy up the 
mortgage; we can get it at a discount; then humor her 
Avhims a little Avhile, and then close in on the mortgage. 
Do you see?” 

‘ “Yes I see; that is capital. Squire, you are a 
schemer; Ave lawyers are smart. Fll go tomorrow and 
open the subject to Mrs. Morehead.” 

CHAPTER XAHI. 

Erney and Rosa Avere sitting in the parlor the next 
evening after the dialogue occurred between the two 
village worthies. 

“1 wish I Avas big and strong like pai)a,” observed 
Erney to Rosa. “I guess I could make some money and 
help papa.” 


MARRIED THE WRO:^^G MAX. 


117 


“Yes, dear P^riiey,” says Rosa, “and I wish I could do 
something, too. Pai)a takes it so hard that he can’t pay 
his debts. O, I wish I could help him! But Erney you 
know you are not strong. It was only the other day 
that the doctor said you must be careful. You have 
studied so hard, and you have that mean cough. I be- 
lieve I’m stronger than you, Frney.” 

“O never mind, Rosa; I shall be well soon. I wish I 
was as good as aunty. I wish all people were good; but 
there are some persons in the world I don’t like.” 

“Why who are they, Erney? I thought everybody 
was good. Papa is a good man. Mama is good, aint 
she?” 

“Well, Rosa, I don’t like that man Lawyer Smart, and 
Squire Bloss. That man Smart was here today and had 
a long talk with mama. I tell you, Rosa, I don’t like 
him.” 

“Well, Erney, may be it is for the best. You know 
that at Sabbath school we leawi that we must love our 
neighbors.” 

“Yes, Rosa, I know it; but then you know that liymn 
they sung at church last Sunday? It says ^that every 
prospect pleases and only man is vile.’ Why, Rosa, the 
birds all love one another and help one another. Don’t 
you see how the old robin that builds her nest out in the 
arbor every year loves her mate>aiid helps to build her 
nest; and they sing to one another all the time. And 
then there are the beautiful little wrens — how they twit* 
ter and sing to their little birdies. And then to see the 
beautiful flowers — the morning glories and four 
o’clocks. It seems to me that people ^ ought to be as 
good as the birds and flowers.” 

Rosa had hung on her brother’s words all the while 
and wanted to talk some about the birds and flowers; 
but she only observed: 


118 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


“Well, Eriiey, I MHsb we could help papa.” 

But Eriiey, who had got into that tiaiii of thought, 
could not get his mind in any other channel and con- 
tinued: 

“Aunty says Heaven is a beautiful place and all good 
people will go there. We’ll go there, wont we Rosa? 
You know that beautiful 'song we sing at. Sabbath 
school: ‘I love to think of that Heayenly land.’ Rosa 
can’t you sing that? Sing it for me.” 

There was a listener to the conversation between the 
children. It was their father; and when Erney wanted 
Rosa to sing, he stepped in and embracing his dear chil- 
dren, observed to them: 

“Yes sing, my dear children; sing that beautiful 
hymn.” 

And Rosa, ever willing to please her papa, sang the 
hymn through. When it was concluded, their father 
bade them good night and sent them to their rooms. 
After they had retired, he thus soliloquized: 

“Those dear children are my only comfort and solace. 
If I was only as pure as they I should be happy. I may 
lose everything, but my dear children will be cared for. 
Yes,” he continued, “I will work — work on and on as 
long as God gives me strength. The thought of them 
brings me to my duty. God has given me those blessed 
ones to remind me of my duty to Him, Him. And al- 
though losses and crosses encompass me on every hand, 
I will bear up under every trial and affliction, and look 
to Him for strength and support. But I see Erney has 
that cough and that hectic Hush on his cheek — it bodes 
no good. May God give him health to be a help to me.” 

CHAPTER XVI 1 1. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Morehead, I’m glad to see you 
Rooking so well. How are all the folks?” 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. llO 

This was said to Florence by Lawyer Smart the next 
morning after he and the squire had their conversation, 
and as agreed upon, was to be the* subject to open nego- 
tiations on the title to the Morehead realty. Florence 
was very much flattered by the seeming politeness of 
Lawyer Smart, especially when he praised her good 
looks. She was vain and actually courtesied to Lawyer 
Smart and put on her blandest smile. 

Motioning him to a seat, she became very profuse in 
her acknowledgements of his compliments. After the 
usual salutations were passed. Lawyer Smart began 'to 
approach the subject of his eiTand. He began to ex- 
plain to Florence that so many persons were breaking 
up and that it would always be best for business men to 
have the title to any realty put in the name of the wife. 
He also explained to her that Mr. Morehead, being in- 
volved, should so dispose of his property in her name; 
that it would then be safe from remorseless creditors. 

Florence caught on to the idea at orce and was eager 
to have the matter attended to at once. But in order to 
do this John Morehead must be won over to the scheme 
and sign the titles. 

‘T know John will do it,” said Florence. “He surely 
can see it will be to his advantage, and he can save his 
property by making the transfer.” 

It became necessary to get John into the scheme and 
in order to do that properly he must be talked into it by 
some one. After some hesitancy she told Lawyer 
Smart to call in the afternoon, and she would have a 
talk with John and get his views on the matter. 

Accordingly, after she had dismissed Lawyer Smart, 
she awaited John’s return to the house with considerable 
anxiety. Finally as the hour of dinner drew nigh, John 
came in looking pale and dejected. She put on her 
sweetest smile: hoAvever, it was something she had been 


120 


MARRIED THE AVRONG MAX. 


a Stranger to for an indelinite period. And taking a 
seat close to her husband, she opened tlie subject to 
him. John Moreliead listened until she Avas done Avith 
her story and then replied: 

“I Avould not do anything to defraud my creditors or 
to cover up and hide my means. It is true that the 
Avonian Avhom I have chosen to be my companion 
through life should be trusted and be the same as my- 
self.” 

But after some conversation on the subject, John said 
he Avould give the matter a careful study and consult 
aunty about it. 

Florence Avas noAV changed in her demeanor towards 
her husband and put on her sweetest smiles Avhenever 
she was in his company. 

LaAvyer Smart plied all his tact to induce John to 
make over the title to his real estate to his wife. Squire 
Bloss, too, put in his spare time in Florence’s company 
and, although she mistrusted him to some extent, still 
she would lend a willing ear to his talk. 

A week or more was spent in diplomacy Avith John 
iNIorehead and his Avife in order to get the title in the 
name of Florence Moreliead. 

When John referred the matter to aunty, she observed 
to him that honesty was the best policy; that if by so 
doing he could gain time and discharge all of his debts, 
then do it. But the intervicAV left John in doubt, and 
finally, after a deal of chaffing, John Morehead made 
over the title to his realty to his wife, Florence. 

As soon as this was done, she began to assume her 
old demeanor, and even more so. Exacting in all 
things, she gave John to understand that she could now 
assume the management of the busiuess herself Avithout 
jiis help. He saAV the dilemma he was in, but too late to 
remedy the matter. 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 121 

The mortgage on the property would be due in about 
nine months and the money was going to parties who 
were going to have it when due. 

John worked manfully and was continually planning 
to make the payments when due, if possible. Florence 
became more vain and was continually wanting some 
article of merchandise or furniture far beyond their 
means. Thus matters stood when Squire Bloss and 
Lawyer Smart had succeeded in getting the title to 
John’s land in his wife’s name. 

Now the next thing with them was to get the closing 
down on the mortgage. Florence demanded all rents 
accruing on the realty. 

A few days after the transfer of the property, More- 
head began to be more and more convinced that he had 
made a mistake. - And he became convinced also that 
there had been undue influence used on himself, by the 
actions of his wife. That he was willing to satisfy 
Florence in all things reasonable could not be denied. 

After due reflection he spoke of the matter to her and 
hinted that it would be best to undo what had been 
done. This hint at once aroused her to ventilate her 
thoughts. 

‘‘No, Mr. Morehead; I have the title to the property,” 
she observed, “and it is mine. I’ll attend to it, sir. It 
is mine! I have the deed to it and no one gets it from 
me. Lawyer Smart says it is mine. He will defend it 
for me. Do you understand, Mr. Morehead? I’ll never 
sign any deed for anyone. It is mine!” 

CHAPTER XIX. 

“John,” observed aunty, one morning a few days after 
the foregoing conversation occurred, “does thee know 
that Erney is growing worse? He had a chill last night 
and a sweat that made the bed clothes wringing wet. 


122 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


Tliee must see a doctor at once. This morning his 
cheeks were flushed, and then tliat hacking cough.” 

“Why, aunty,” observed John, “I did not know of the 
chill. Does he eat anything — has he any appetite?” 

“No, John; he tries to, but its no use. I fear, John, 
that we will not keep him long. He talks almost con- 
tinually of the beautitul birds and flowers. And yester- 
day he told me that he had been a bad boy at first; had 
been careless and did not help you as he should; but he 
would be a good boy when he got well.” 

“O, aunty, it breaks my heart to hear this. I’ll go at 
once for the doctor. Aunty, we must save that boy; 
death shall not take him from us yet.” 

As John turned to go out, he was met at the door by 
Rosa, who took her papa by the hand and told him to 
come to Erney at once. “He talks so much and wanted 
to see you, he said.” Rosa led him into the sick room 
where the sufferer lay. 

“O my dear boy,” was his first exclamation on enter- 
ing the room. “I’ll go at once for the doctor. You 
must take some medicine.” 

“0 no,” says Erney, ‘T think I shall be better soon. 
But papa, I was a bad boy once — a good while ago. I 
did not help you as I ought; but, papa, you must for- 
give me. I am good now; and papa, dear papa, I 
dreamed last night of the beautiful stars away up in the 
sky. There is one they call the star of Bethlehem, 
aint it, papa? It looked so beautiful and bright. Rosa, 
did you not see that star?” 

“O my dear boy, what makes you talk so? You must 
rest more. I’ll go at once for. the doctor.” 

So dashing the fast gathering tears from his eyes, he 
at once sought the doctor and brought him in. After a 
critical examination of the case, he took Mr. Morehead 
to one side and explained to him that not much could be 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


123 


done but good nursing, and that he should be prej^ared 
for the worst. It might be tliat after the warm, sunny 
days set in that he would rally; but the case, he said, 
was beyond the reach of medicine. Aftc;r a few words 
of encouragement to Rosa, he left, with a promise to 
come again. 

As the doctor left, Florence came into the room and 
gazed intently on Erney, Then she began to upbraid 
her husband. 

“John Morehead, you have not done your duty. Why 
did you not have a doctor for Erney long ago? You 
are too stingy to pay out one cent for your boy’s sickness. 
You just let him lay here and die. You are a brute. O 
my boy, Erney, your father will just let you lay here 
and die. I’ll go for the doctor myself, this minute. I’ll 
see if something can’t be done.” 

“Why mama,” says Rosa, “what do you mean? 
Papa just went for the doctor and he has been here this 
minute. Dear mama, papa will do all he can for Erney? 
wont he Erney?” 

“Yes, dear Rosa, papa has done what he can. Mama, 
I love you, I love papa, and Rosa, and aunty. Now 
why can’t you all be good? I’ll soon be well and help 
papa.” 

As Erney was talking aunty came into the room and 
sitting down beside the bed began to caress and talk to 
Erney. Then she turned to John and said: 

“The must get me some horehound, and some elecom- 
pain, and some mullen. I’ll see if I can do anything for 
Erney. We can do something for him, I think.” 

Turning to Florence, she thus addressed her: 

“Thee must be more gentle and kind in thy talk to 
John, No doubt thee loves Erney; but kind words are 
best, especially in a sick room.” 

Then addressing Rosa, she said: 


124 


:married the wrong man. 


‘‘Thee must help thy father get that medicine for 
Erney. We must all pray for the recovery of the sick.” 

So saying, she again turned her attention to Erney. 
All was now bustle and hurrying to and fro in the 
Morehead mansion. 

John went at once for the medicine aunty had recom- 
mended and Rosa to help him. All were thoroughly 
aroused and aunty’s commands were carried out. Under 
the skillful treatment of aunty, in a few days Erney was 
able to be about the room, and eat some; but still the 
hectic tiush was upon his cheeks. Aunty plied her de- 
coction of herbs and teas, and watched by the bedside of 
the little sufferer almost constantly. 

A few days after John Morehead had made over his 
property to his wife, Tim appeared to be very uneasy 
and wanted to have a talk with John. He was well 
aware of what John had done, and although not versed 
in matters of law, he thought John should not have 
done it. So watching an opportunity, he thus addressed 
him: 

“Misther Morehead, is it thrue that yez have made 
way wid your property to yer wife?” 

“Well, yes,” replied John. “I don’t see any real mis- 
take in that. I did it to please her whims. Why, what 
of it, Tim?” 

“Well, Misther Morehead, yez can see that some one 
will be kickin’ yez on the shins and yez will not have a 
place to lay your head. Bedad, but the wiles of wimen 
are crafty and sometimes ould Satan is in their clothins. 
John Morehead, its Tim Morarity as sez it and nioind 
yez that.” 

“Why, Tim, I supposed that it did not make much 
difference about putting the title to my property in 
Florence’s name. It is in the family, you see.” 

“Well,” replied Tim, “I hope it is for the best. But 


MARRIED THE WR0:N^G MAN. 


125 


it is Tim Morarity’s opinion that yez ’ll see the wimen’s 
rights in all its glory when Mrs. Morehead gets in one 
of her spells. She has got the trumph on yez and she’ll 
play it for all it is wortli or Tim Morarity is no prophet. 
It is you, Mr. Morehead, that should hold the trumph? 
includen three aces and a king to boot. Bedad, you 
give that woman an inch and she’ll take the town, in- 
cluden the suburbs. Begorra, but its meself what aint 
got any wife foolin’ around wid dere masculine notions. 
Mr. Morehead, yez had bether get back what yez have 
lost.” 

So saying, Tim walked off and left John soliloquizing 
to himself; 

‘‘Tim talks honest and blunt, and his view of the 
transaction appears to be reasonable. It may be I have 
mad(‘ a blunder in making my property over to Florence- 
1’11 go at once and have a talk with Squire Bloss and 
Lawyer Smart.” 

So, suiting the action to the word, he at once sought 
tlie office of the squire. He found that dignitary in con- 
ference with Lawyer Smart, as he entered the room. 
He found the demeanor of these Avorthies entirely 
changed. Instead of the blandness and courtesy shown 
on former occasions, there was gruffness and resentment. 
They informed him that the mortgage was better than 
any title, and that as soon as it became due proceedings 
w^ould at once be commenced to close it up. 

As for him he could content himself as best he could, 
for the title was in another person’s name, and even if 
redeemed he could do nothing. Mrs. Morehead con- 
trolled the matter and they Avould soon have her title. 

A liglit began to daAvn on .lohn’s mind. He began to 
see that he was duped into a conspiracy and from all 
present appearances there Avas no help for it. Money 
now was what was wanted; but where could he procure it? 


126 


MAKKTED THE WROXG MAN. 


Slowly he left the office and turned his stej^s home- 
ward. As he reached his home, he went to his room 
and said to himself: 

‘‘Yes I have been duped and made a party to a con- 
cocted scheme. John Morehead you are a fool to be 
thus drawn into that plot. What will people say — Mr. 
Morehead did it to smuggle his property. They will 
point their fingers and say there go'es the man who made 
away with his property. And they may add: ‘He did 
it to defraud his creditors.’ I did as I was advised — for 
the best, God knows. Florence cannot, will not prove 
unfaithful. That mortgage — it is there — it hangs like a 
load of lead. Money will pay it. But where is that 
money to come from? Yes money will do it. Money, 
money, money. O, yes, if I had it I could work myself 
blind to get it. I would coin my very heart’s blood for 
money. In the name of high Heaven, that money must 
be forthcoming. O ye Gods, who know the end of this, 
give me a sh} lock or anyone to loan me this money. 
I’ll pledge a pound of my flesh for it — yes more. I’ll give 
my right hand for it. Come weal, come woe. I’ll have 
the money. I see it all now — it is the lever that moves 
the world, and I’ll have it. One pound of flesh, nay ten 
pounds. I’ll give but I’ll have it.” 

CHAPTER XX. 

Almost two weeks after the foregoing incidents oc- 
curred, Mrs. Dedcom found her way to the Morehead 
mansion dwelling and as usual began to gossip the news 
of the day. 

“Well, Florence, they tell me that John has made over 
the title to his property to you. Well, now, if that aint 
just right. I tell you, Florence, we women are going to 
have things our Avay a while; you’ll see. Women are 
going to have their rights. Do you know if Brother 


MARRIED THE WROJfG MA^f. . 127 

Matthews has any real estate or not? I’ll see to it that 
it will be put in my name.” 

Mrs. Dedcom was running on at snch a rate that 
Florence could hardly get a word in; but, seeing no 
other way, she finally interrupted her with: 

“Why, Mrs. Dedcom, I’ve got it; yes, and I’m going 
to hold it. John is good enough in his way, but Lawyer 
Smart says it is best to be in my name. So they fixed it 
up — he and Squire Bloss. And it is all right, and John 
can go about his business. I’m going to have things, I 
am. I don’t care for all the Moreheads in Christendom. 
Did you see that new silk gown that Deacon Strong’s 
wife had on at church — the horrid old thing. Wonder 
where the money comes from to buy those things. A 
thing like her to have a silk gown like that one. The 
deacon can’t afford it, I know.” 

“Yes,” continued Mrs. Dedcom, “and there is that 
daughter of hers. Aint she a pretty thing to be talking 
to Brother Matthews. — confidentially I suppose. Yes I 
reckon, confidentially. Now Florence, I’m going to 
have this matter stopped at once. I’ll have Brother 
Matthews informed of how things are. I’ll talk to him 
myself, I will.” 

“Mrs. Dedcom,” said Florence, putting on a grave 
look, “I thought I would talk to Brother Matthews my- 
self. I think it would be more fitting that one of the 
church members talk the matter over with him. In 
fact, I think I have married the wrong man. I’ve got 
the property in my own name and can do as I please. I 
think I am the proper one to talk to him on matters of 
that kind. You, Mrs. Dedcom, might say things to 
offend our minister.” 

Mrs. Dedcom was not expecting this turn in the con- 
versation and was not a little taken back. But rallying 
herself, she pettishly replied; 


128 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


“AVhy, Florence, I don’t see but I have the best right 
to talk to him. Don’t I go to church and I am as good 
as any of you. I’m the proper one to talk to him and I 
am going to do it, and I don’t think you ought to inter- 
fere.” 

Florence drew herself up in a dignified way and flatly 
told Mrs. Dedcom that she was meddling where she had 
no business. 

“Well, well, Mrs. Morehead, if it comes to that, what 
business has a married woman to be talking to other 
men? You had better be looking after your sick boy. 
I’ll give you to understand, Mrs. Morehead, that you 
must not be meddling with my affairs,” snappishly. 

At this, Florence went to the door and opening it 
wide, motioned her visitor out. Things seemed to have 
suddenly taken a turn. Dark clouds were looming up 
in the sky. 

As time passed, John Morehead’s financial condition 
did not improve — in fact, he became more and more 
cramped, and he was peevish and exciteable. He fre- 
quently indulged in irritable arguments and debates. 
The time was fast approaching when the mortgage 
Avould be due on his property, and no visible means to 
liquidate it. 

Florence, too, was becoming more and more unwom- 
anly in her demeanor towards John, and on several oc- 
casions had given him to understand that he might look 
out for himself; that if he could not take care of her she 
would find some one that could. 

He had several conferences with Squire Bloss and had 
been given to understand that the mortgage would be 
closed at maturity. These and other matters relating to 
financial affairs made John Morehead anything but 
})leasant in his temper. 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


129 


Squire Bloss had served as justice for several years 
and it was his almost universal custom that when an 
offence was committed by anyone, whether proven guilty 
or not, to bind him or them over. That, in his estima- 
tion, would vindicate the majesty of the law. His de- 
cision was, ^‘Will have to bind you over to the Circuit 
Court, sir.” 

On one occasion John was endeavoring to reason and 
settle some matter with his wife. She at once con- 
cluded that now was the time to show her authority and 
settle the question of women’s rights. And as John 
became earnest in his talk to Florence, and being some- 
what excited, Florence left the l)^)use and went in search 
of the marshal. Having found that officer, she de- 
manded that Jolin should be arrested and dealt with ac" 
cording to law. 

So the marshal led John away to Squire Bloss. That 
august personage, too eager to get ah accusation against 
John, after hearing tlie complaint, decided that John 
Morehead should be “bound over.” 

‘‘Your honor,” says John, “I am not guilty of any- 
thing that I should be held to bail.” 

“No matter,” replies the squire; “the decision of this 
court is that you be bound over.” 

And that was final. 

As the marshal and John left the squire’s office, they 
were met outside by a burly looking lad who was look- 
ing for the squire- 

“Just in there,!’ replies the marshal, “you will find 
him.” 

“Well,” says the lad, “I want to see if I have to pay 
a fine.” 

“Why, what have yon been doing?” says the marshal. 

“Well,” replies the lad, “there was a big boy down 
town came at me with a club and said he would knock 


130 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


me down, and I hauled away with my fist and knocked 
him down; and some one said I’d be fined. So I 
thought I’d see the squire.” 

“Why, no,” replies tlie marshal, “You were not the 
aggressor. The other one is the boy to be fined.” 

Then turning to John, he said: 

“Go and get your bail. I’ll s^e about this new case.” 

So the marshal took the boy in and stated the case to 
the squire. After the squire heard the case, he gave in 
his decision as follows: 

“It is the order of the court that you be bound over.” 

So it was the squire’s custom, and his edicts were pro- 
nounced very emphatigally. 

As there was no difficulty with John Morehead in pro- 
curing bail, he went back to his home sad and depressed 
in spirits. Seating himself, he bowed his head in his 
hands some time, in deep thought. Then suddenly 
rousing up, he commenced to pace the floor, 

“Has it come to this — John Morehead bound over to 
court and no offence committed?” 

This he said in low and measured tones, but became 
more earnest as he continued: 

‘A^es, here I am, a criminal in the eyes of the law, but 
not in justice. What am I coming to, thus to be dealt 
with? Why did I make my property over to ray wife? 
And why does she treat me so slightingly? Yes, she 
has the advantage of me now. A noble woman would 
not do that. Why can’c she help to bear ray cares and 
burdens in this sore time of trial. But here I am, a 
criminal before the world. A criminal, did I say? 
That sounds strange. Have not I always striven to do 
what was right? Yes. Have I willfully and malicious^ 
ly wronged anyone? No, no, John Morehead, you are 
not a criminal. The powers of hell have combined 
against me to ruin me — to drag me down — to rob me. 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


131 


I’ll stand before the judge of the world and proclaim it 
that I’m not a criminal. I have been foully dtalt with 
— I see it — I know it. I’ll demand that the title to my 
property be made back to me. Some person or persons 
has concocted a plot to ruin me, to defraud me of my 
just rights. I’ll meet the powers of Satan ard Hell — ” 

“Ilould on, Misther Moreh^ad. In the name of all 
the Saints, fwat is the matter wid yez? Is it goin’ mad, 
ye are?” 

Tim had just come in as John was reaching for his 
hat to go out. He had neyer saw Mr. Morehead in such 
a passion before and was taken all aback on hearing him 
talking at Siich a rate. 

“Why, Tim,” replies John, “I’m not crazy, nor mad. 
No, indeed, but I’ve been foully dealt with; and Tim, 
don’t you think that Squire Bloss has bound me over!” 

“Bound yez over, the dirty black — ” Tim was going to 
say but caught himself. He had been brought up to re- 
spect civil magistrates and recollecting that the man he 
was about to anathematize was a justice of the peace, he 
forbore to finish the sentence. And* then he commenced 
to flourish his shelalah and continued: 

“I’d like to see the man as wad bind yez over, Misther 
Morehead. They’d feel the weight of me shelalah. 
What in the wurld is the matter wid yez? Tell it me. 
Tim Morarity will see that no harum befall yez.” 

“Well, you see, Tim, they have got me to deed all my 
property away.” 

“The dirty spalpeens, who did it?” 

“And then Florence, she has given me the cold 
shoulder, and Squire Bloss bound me over for pleading 
for my rights — and John Morehead stands today before 
the world a criminal, for only dareing to assert his 
rights. And now, on all this trouble, the mortgage on 
my property is becoming due. True, they have got the 


132 


MARRIED THE AVROXG MAN. 


title out of my hands, but I have it to pay off. And 
where in God’s name it is to come from, can’t bo told.” 

Tim listened eagerly as John told his complaints and 
spoke out: 

“Bedad, Misther Morehead, I can see it. The divil’s 
own imp herself is at the bottom of all this. Don’t 
you see it? Florence says she has married the wrong 
man. She has got the title away from yez, and thin 
thim spalpeens houlds the mortgage on ye and they will 
soon have Florence’s i ight and close up the mortgage 
and take the whole ball of wax, do ye see? Yez ’ave 
bin taken sthock in the wimen’s rights parade. It is as 
plain as the feathers in a peacock’s tail, ^ it is, and a 
moighty foin tail it is.” 

‘T see it, Tim; I see it all now.” 

‘‘Yis, an yez ’ill see fun before yez git out iv thim 
clutches,” replies Tim. 

As John Morehead turned to walk out, he was met in 
the hall by Rosa, who urged her father to came to Erney 
at once. 

“O my poor boy, I have neglect'^d him. Troubles 
come now thick and fast on me,” said John, as he 
hastened to the bedside of his sick boy, Rosa leading 
him by the hand. 

As he entered the sick chamber of his boy, Erney 
reached out his thin, emaciated hand and taking that of 
his father’s in its feverish clasp, he spoke: 

“Papa, dear papa, I know you are in trouble. I wish 
1 could help you. Aint this house yours, papa? I am 
afraid some bad persons have got it away from yen. 
Mama .is good and she will help you out of any trouble.” 

As Erney spoke these words, he bowed his head and 
wept. 

“Why papa, what makes you cry? I was once 
a wayward boy. I was bad sometimes and did not do 


Married ]^tiie wrong ^tAN. 133 

wliat you told me. But I am good now and you will 
forgive me, papa, I know you will.” 

As Erney spoke these words, John Morehead could 
stand it no longer, and rousing up, with a mighty effort 
he calmed himself and embracing his boy tenderly, he 
spoke: 

‘‘Yes, my dear boy, forgive you a thousand times. 
Yes I forgive you, my dear boy. But it is I who should 
ask forgiveness of my dear one — for not being more 
watchful over your sickness. Yes. my child, it is I who 
am to ask forgiveness of that gentle spinit, for my seem- 
ing unfaithfulness.” 

Long and silently John Morehead held that wasted 
form in his arms. Then carefully and tenderly laying 
him on his couch, he slowly and silently left the room. 

- CHAPTER XXI. 

“Now, squire,” obseryed Lawyer Smart, as they sat 
together in the office of the former, “that mortgage we 
hold on John Morehead’s property will soon be due and 
I am informed that he cannot raise the money to pay it 
off. So We will have nothing to do but to close dowm 
and take in the spoils, as he cannot redeem it.” 

“I wonder why his friends don’t help him out on this 
matter?” said the squire, as he lit his pipe and sat down 
for a social smoke. 

“Well, I am inclined to think,” said Lawyer Smart, 
i‘that Florence is a hindering cause, as she is extravagant 
and money and finery appear to be her solo delight.” 

“Well that part of the game will soon come to an 
end, as we cannot afford to advance any more money on 
her realty,” the squire replied. ‘.‘AVe must have a pretty 
heavy margin to back us up in this. It wont do to ad- 
vance any more. It must be stopped at once.” 

“I wonder why that Tim Morarity is staying around 


134 


MAKKIED THE WRONG MAN. 


the Moreheads so much, the hair brained irisliman. He 
don’t give me very kind looks when he passes me,” says 
Lawyer Smart. “The fellow has been with John for 
several years and appears to be a fast friend of the 
Moreheads.” 

“Well, well, he don’t amount to much anyway and I 
shall give him to understand that he must obey the law 
or be bound over,” the squire replied. 

Neither one of these dignitaries was aware that Tim 
was at that time looking in at the open door until the 
last remark of the squire, which caused Tim to speak 
out: 

“An its bindin iv me over yez are afther, and fwat for 
I nioight inquire of yours lordships. Bedad, an I’m 
thinkin yez’ll have a foin time ov bindin’ a peaceful mon 
on free American sile over. Out wid yez* nonsense. It 
ud be better if ye wad be bindin’ yezselves over, I’m 
thinkin’, and you would not be settin’’ there concoctin’ 
skames against a mon as fought for his country undther 
the sthars and the sthripes for Uncle Sam. If yez wad 
bind ould nick himself over to the regions of the 
damned, I’m thinkin’ yez wad do well. Whoop, hur- 
rah, ballawhack! but its Tim Morarity that will tache 
yours honors worships a lesson wid me shelalah as niver 
missiired. Yer concoctin’ schames forenest John More- 
head and yez’ll have Tim to foight and moind yez that.” 

Though putting on a bold front. Lawyer Smart and 
Squire Bloss began to wince at the remarks of Tim — in 
fact, they did not know but their talk was all overheard 
by him, and that they did not ^^ant to get into the out- 
side world. But not wishing to show any weakness that 
might betray them, they requested Tim to go away and 
attend to his own affairs. 

So he very reluctantly walked away, remarking as he 
did so “that some people were no better than others,” at 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 135 

the same time shaking his shelalah at the two men. 

“Yes,” he continued as he walked along, “I font und’ 
her the American flag and 1 am not goin’ to be bound 
over, de ye see?” 

CHAPTER XXII. 

When John Morehead left the sick chamber of his 
boy, he went directly to his private room and seating 
himself, he collected his confused thoughts as best he 
could and then began to revolve in his mind what was 
best to be done. Money was what he wanted. He 
went to his desk and began to fumble his papers over, 
yet he 'Scarcely knew or thought what he was doing. 
His mind was wandering. He thought of his sick boy, 
his business, his wife, — all went rushing through his 
brain like flashes of fire. 

While thus engaged, he opened a bundle of letters 
and commenced reading on the back of one, to Drexel, 
Morgan & Co., St. Louis, Mo. As he slowly read it 
over, a light began to dawn on his mind — that firm was 
a banking house. Then taking the letter from the envel- 
ope, he carefully opened it and read: 

“John Morehead is hereby authorized by this letter of 
credit to draw on me, at sight, for any sum not exceed- 
ing two thousand dollars, for services rendered me in 
saving myself, wife and child from drowning in a steam- 
boat disaster. 

“Signed, W. L. Morrison, Captain. 

“To Drexel, Morgan & Co., Bankers, St. Louis, Mo.” 

The matter now came fresh to his mind. He recol- 
lected that the captain gave him that letter of credit at 
the time of the rescue. He had laid it away with other 
papers and he had forgotten it. But as he read it over 
and oyer, his countenance became lit up as it were with 
a smile and feeling of relief. 

But then a question arose in his mind, “Should he 
draw on the captain for two thousand dollars? Would 


130 


^rARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


the draft be honored? Two thousand dollars is a large 
snin.” 

Over two years had elapsed since the letter of credit 
Avas sriven. Doubts bearan to rise in the mind of John 
Morehead. But then again, there Avas the letter of 
credit. It was all right; there could be no mistake 
about it — a debt of hone r, as it Avere. 

Ilis mind Avas at once made up. On the morrow he 
Avould forAvard a draft for thousand dollars. The party 
might be dead or gone to other parts. lie could but 
fail- -he Avas resolved to try. 

On the next day John drew a draft for tlie amount 
and foi’Avarded it to the banking firm as indicated in the 
etter of credit and quietly awaited an answer. 

In the meantime the mortgagees had commenced pro- 
ceedings to foreclose on his property. Matters were 
coming to a crisis. Everything looked dark ahead but 
the draft, and that Avas very uncertain. What could he 
do? Simply nothing but sit down and Avait. In his ex- 
tremity he very naturally turned to aunty for consola- 
tion and advice. 

“Well, John, thee knows that Job said the Lord giv- 
eth and the Lord taketh aAvay. Thee must be resigned 
to thy fate. The things of this world are all transient 
in their nature. Thee must not put thy trust in riches,” 
said aunty in a sentimental Avay, 

“Well, aunty, you must be about right. .That is 
scripture, although according to our doctrine we are to 
lay up enough of this Avorld’s goods to supply our 
wants.” 

“Well, John,” continued aunty, “thee must not let thy 
wants be too many. Thee must curb thy desires. The 
good Lord will prosper thee in all that is right. First, 
John, w^e must now turn all our attention to Erney. 
He, I fear, is not long for this world.” 


MARRIED THE WROiCG MAN. 


137 


‘‘I know it, aunty, I know it; and my already over- 
burdened heart, I fear, will break when the worst comes. 
Troubles come not single handed. But let us at once go 
to Erney. I shall not leave his bedside again until he 
is better.” 

So saying, the two repaired to the sick chamber of the 
dear boy. For days John and aunty watched by the 
bedside of Erney, doing all in their power for the in. 
valid; but it became more and more evident every day 
that the little sufferer would nevor again be able to 
leave the sick room. The watch by the side of the boy 
was not relaxed day or night. 

Days were lengthened into weeks and weeks into 
months, but no tidings were obtained from the draft 
forwarded to the bankers in St. Louis by elohn More- 
head. 

Suit had been commenced to close on the mortgage 
and the judgment rendered, and the property advertised 
for sale. 

John became despondent and refused to talk to any- 
one. Why he could get no reply to his letter was a 
mystery. lie saw his property about to be taken from 
him — that for which he had spent the best part of his 
life to accumulate. True he owed the debt for which it 
was mortgaged — justly and honestly he owed it. But 
by patience and perseverance he was sure that he could, 
if given time, redeem it. 

He now watched constantly with his sick boy. It was 
only a question of time that he must be laid in the silent 
tomb. 

One evening as Rosa and her father were sitting by 
the bedside of Erney, the front door bell rung. Rosa 
went to answer the call, and as she opened the door she 
observed a tall young man standing on the step con. 
fronting her. And as she stood in the doorway, the 


138 


MARRIED THE AVRONG MAK. 


man retreated a step, then modestly inquired if Mr. 
Morehead was in. 

As he spoke, Rosa gave one scream and retreated 
back into the hall. That voice she knew. She could 
not be mistaken. It was William Ramble that stood 
before her. And as she recovered herself, William 
spoke again: 

“Miss Morehead — Rosa, I mean — I have come to 
bring your father good news. But perhaps he will not 
admit me into his dwelling.” 

But Rosa urged him to come into the parlor aud be 
seated. She would attend to her father. 

Hesitatingly, William went into the parlor and took 
the proffered seat. And he did so, he informed Rosa 
that he had just arrived from St. Louis and had some 
important business with her father, and desired that he 
see him at once. 

Rosa’s cheeks burned like fire. She was in a critical 
place. But summoning all her energy, she went to her 
father and informed him that a person was in the parlor 
who wished to speak with him on important business. 
She would not tell her father who it was, for she was 
afraid that he would refuse to see him. 

Mr. Morehead slowly arose from his seat, stepped in- 
to the parlor and as he did so, William Ramble stood 
face to face wfith him. Then extending his hand to 
John, he addressed him. 

“Mr. Morehead, I presume you know me. You cer- 
tainly have not forgotten me, although near three years 
have elapsed since I left here. William Ramble is my 
name.” 

John Morehead was about to reply, when William 
continued: 

“I have come on an errand. I represent the banking 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


139 


house of Drexel, Morgan & Co., of St. Louis,” at the 
same time handing John his card. 

As John took the card, he hastily read it and observed 
that the name of William Ramble was at the bottom as 
assistant cashier. First he looked at the card and then 
at William Ramble. He was completely taken aback. 
But not wishing to appear rude, he gave his hand to 
Mr Ramble and with a good shake bade him be seated; 
and then taking a chair himself, the two entered into 
conversation. 

“Mr. Morehead, you drew a draft on the house of 
Drexel, Morgan & Co., in St. Louis, some time ago. 
Said draft was to be honored by W. L. Morrison.” 

John nodded assent and began to explain, when Wil- 
liam Ramble continued: 

“The draft was forwarded by us for acceptance and 
the payee being absent, caused the delay. But now I 
have come to bring you the good news that the draft 
has been accepted by Mr. Morrison and here it is for 
* 2 , 000 .” 

It was some time before John Morehead could speak, 
but collecting himself and choking down a great big 
‘‘God bless you,” he took the proffered draft; and then 
seizing William by the hand, he was only able to say, 
“You are welcome here.” 

“But how in the world did you get into that banking 
house as assistant cashier?” observed John. 

“Well, to make a long story short,” says William, 
i‘Tim Morarity left me at Memphis where I had a situa- 
tion as bill clerk. Becoming acquainted with several 
steamboat captains, I was in due time promoted to a 
clerk on one of those big New Orleans steamers. Then 
I became acquainted with business men of capital and 
by the influence of friends, was offered a place in that 
banking house as assistant cashier — about one year ago. 


140 


MARRIED TRIE WRONG MAN. 


When your draft M'-as presented to the house, I knew at 
once that you were in trouble, and as soon as opportun- 
ity offered, I asked for and obtained leave of absence 
for two weeks in order to bring you the good new^s and 
the money. I am well aware, Mr. Morehead, that when 
I left here I was forbidden to enter your house. I de- 
termined to remove the stigma from my record and 
make a man of myself, and climb to the top of the lad 
der, if possible; and here I am; and I hope you will for- 
give the intrusion.” 

Rosa, who had been a listener all the time to the con 
versation between William and her father, and as he 
finished his story, she stepped out and clasping her 
father about his neck Avith her slender arms, she broke 
out: 

“I told you so, father. I knew that William would 
make a man of himself. Now you will welcome him to 
our house — I know you wdll, dear papa.” 

Then, as if anticipating her father’s answer, she took 
William’s hand and bid him welcome. 

‘‘Yes,” Mr. Morehead replied, “Mr. Ramble, you will 
make it your home while you stay here.” 

Just then there was a burly head poked inside the 
door, and Tim’s head and shoulders were thrust into the 
room uncermoniously; and as he stood there a few mo- 
ments, he took in the situation and then with a sly Avink 
wink at William and Rosa, he spoke up. 

“I’m thinkin’ that if yez wad go over to the squire’s 
he wad bind yez over, providen yez have the papers and 
Mr. Morehead is willin’.” 

“Never mind that, Tim,” John replied; “Ave’ll see to 
that.” 

Tim was overjoyed at the good fortune of John MoreJ 
head and fairly danced an Irish jig. But John admon* 


MAREIED THE WKONG MAN. 


141 


ished them that the sick chamber must be attended to 
and Erney have their undivided care. 

So the happy meeting broke up and each one retired 
to their allotted place. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

On the morrow John Morehead was at the office of 
Squire Bloss very early m order to liquidate the mort- 
gage on his property — in fact, he was ahead of that im- 
portant functionary, but did not wait long until the 
squire put in his appearance. 

He did not know of John’s good fortune and there- 
fore treated him cooly, and wanted to know what 
brought him there so early. 

John replied by saying that he had come over to pay 
off the mortgage on his property, at the same time pro- 
ducing the draft. 

Had a thunder clap struck the squire’s office, he could 
not have been more surprised; and it was quite a while 
before he recovered his equilibrum. But all at once his 
demeanor towards John was changed, and putting on 
his blandest smile, he extended his hand to him and 
began to congratulate him on his good fortune in being 
able to pay off the incumbrance on his property, 
although he had secretly hoped that Mr. Morehead 
would not be able to redeem it and he would thereby be 
the winner of it. 

After the release was made out and duly signed, John 
again sought the sick chamber of his dear boy. True, a 
mighty load was lifted from his over-burdened mind 
and he felt a great relief; but then there was dear boy 
laying in the grasp of that dread disease consumption, his 
wasted form shrunk almost to a skeleton. Could he be 
called back to health and vigor again, he would sacrifice 
all he had in this world. But he hoped against fate. It 


'142 


MARRIED THE AVROXG MAN. 


was only a question of time and Erney must go. 

Could John Morehead have had the solace and kindly 
smiles of his wife the blow would not be so hard. It would 
be softened by the kind and gentle words of a loving 
wife. But no such sympathy was in store for him. He 
must watch by the bedside of the litttle sufferer and see 
his child like spirit go out. 

‘‘That life which had at first 2>romised so much, and 
would be the light and joy of his father, must be cut 
short in the bud. But why mourn, why be downcast? 
A far better life awaited the invalid than could be at- 
tained in this world. He was summoned to go and that 
inexorable one must be obeyed. He could not come 
back, but I can go to him.’” 

These thoughts rushed through the father’s mind as 
he watched by the little sufferer day by day until the end 
was finally approaching. 

One morning, about ten days after the payment of the 
money that freed the property of the Moreheads, Erney) 
after a restless night, called to his father to come to 
him. Although his voice was weak, yet he spoke with 
clearness. 

“Papa,” said he, “I heard you say that you had paid 
off the debt on our home and no one had a claim on it. 
Is that so?” 

“Yes, my dear boy, we are now clear of that debt. It 
no longer hangs over us; and I shall be so happy, Erney, 
when you get better and go out with me and enjoy the 
pure air.” 

Erney extended his thin, emaciated hand and took 
that of his father and replied: 

“No, dear papa, no, I shall not go out again in this 
world. I am now ready to die. I saw in my dream last 
night a beautiful city. There were beautiful flowers, 
and birds that sang so sweetly. And then there were 


MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 


143 


beautiful men and angel women there. There was no 
sickness, sorrow nor pain there.” 

His voice grew faint and sank into a whisper as the 
father bent over his son. But the sufferer rallied again 
and spoke out: 

“Papa, call mama, and Rosa and aunty to come.” 

Hastily summoning the dear ones that Erney had 
named, John Morehead returned to the bedside of the 
fast sinking boy. He was followed in by the members 
of the family, and as they stood around the bed, each 
one was impressed with the solemnity of the moment. 
Erney lay for a few minutes evidently awaiting for his 
strength to return. Then casting a fond and affection- 
ate look on each one, he extended his thin hand to his 
mother. 

“Mama, you and papa will be happy now when I am 
gone; and Rosa, you will be so happy with papa and 
mama, and William. And this dear home is all yours 
now; it is all paid for — papa paid it all. No one can 
take it from you. And then you will meet me in that 
beautiful land where I am going — where there are such 
beautiful bright angels, and birds, and flowers; and we 
will all be so happy. Mama, I know you will like dear 
papa and Rosa, and all live here together.” 

As Erney had summoned all his strength to talk, he 
fell back on the bed entirely exhausted. Once, nay 
twice, he endeavored to rally, but nature had been tri^ 
to its utmost extent and he lay almost lifeless. Once 
again a struggle, a faint struggle, the lips moved as if 
to speak, then all was still in death. That gentle spirit 
had gone to its reward among the bright angels, and 
flowers, and birds he loved so well in this world. 

For several minutes there was the stillness of death in 
that chamber — no one spoke, no one moved. Florence 
was as a marble statue. Her face only gave signs that 


144 


MARRIED THE WROXG MAN. 


the body contained life. From the hue of life on her 
cheeks there came the whiteness of marble; but there 
was a fierce struggle going on in her breast. There was 
something there — a long absent passion contending" for 
supremacy. That passion had been dethroned and a 
stranger for years. Would it predominate and assert 
its right? It was a terrible struggle. As the storm - 
tossed bark on the ocean when it nears the harbor of 
safety, did reason begin slowly to come back to the 
mind of Florence. Like a panorama, her past life rose 
up before her to mock her in those few brief moments. 
It was but a few; then when she fully realized that 
Frney was dead, she uttered a scream of despair and fell 
at the bedside of the corps, and begged piteously for the 
life of her boy to be brought back again. For some 
time she sobbed and moaned, and would not be com- 
forted. 

“O, why did you tell me that Erney would die! I 
know I’ve not done my duty as a mother ought John 
Morehead, I have not done my duty as wife should do 
to her husband. I have been led astray by that silly 
woman, Mrs. Eedconi. I scorned the good advice of 
others. It seemed to me that I must rule or ruin. I 
went beyond my proper sphere. I was blinded and led 
astray by designing and malicious persons, O why did 
I not act the woman — the true wife! O my dear boy 
has been taken from me! O, what would I give if 
Erney was alive again and restored to my arms! O thou 
God in Heaven, hear my prayer and give me back my 
boy. John Morehead, can you, will you forgive me?” 

Completely exhausted, Florence lay as if almost life- 
less; but rallying again, was about to go on, when aunty 
thus addressed her: 

“Florence, it seems that thee has sown the wind and 
it has returned to thee in the whirlwind. Thee must 


MARRIED THE AVROX(^ MAN. 


145 


calm thyself. God hears prayers when offered in the 
right spirit. But to call back the life of thy boy to this 
sinful world would be against the will of God who 
doeth all things well. We must all bow in humble sub- 
mission to His all-wise decrees.” 

But Flerence would not be consoled. Again she 
sobbed out: 

“O, aunty, will you forgive me? Rosa, will you for- 
give me? John Morehead, let me once more in the 
presence of our dear dead boy ask your forgiveness.” 

“Yes, John,” broke in aunty, “it is thy duty to forgive 
thy wife; not only seven times, but seventy times seven.’’ 

As she thus addressed him, he extended his hand to 
Florence and tenderly raised her from the prostrate 
condition, as she had been lying on the floor all the 
time, and speaking out from the depths of his manly 
heart, he said: 

“Forgive you, my dear wife? God knows I do, from 
the bottom of my heart and may God bless you. For 
years I have longed for the time to come when I could 
hear one good kind word drop from your lips — one true 
womanly word. Yes, I can say I forgive and forget the 
past. I, too, ask forgiveness for my waywardness and 
seeming neglect. I have this to ask, not only of you, 
Florence, my dear wife, but of my neighbors, also.” 

“No, John, you have done nothing to be forgiven. 
Henceforth I will be to you the wife, and we will travel 
the balance of life’s journey together as man and wife 
should — in peace and harmony.” 

“Yes, my dear children,” said aunty, “the Lord chas- 
teneth whom he loveth, and you can make amends for 
the past in kind and mutual acts of love and friendship 
towards one another; and although your journey through 
life thus far has been strewn with thorns and thistles, 
yet from now on to the end of your lives let there be 


Ui) MARRIED THE WRONG MAN. 

ro^es instead of thistles and flowers instead of thorns 
And now, John, I see that thee has got past the third 
and last yellow ball. Now let thy light so shine that 
others seeing thy good works may do likewise. And 
you, dear Florence, having seen the folly of thy former 
life by presuming that thee married the wrong man, 
show to the world and thy neighbors that there is a 
proper sphere for women in this world, which is to be 
the ministering angel in times of trouble not only to thy 
husband but to all the world.” 


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